A steady beep intruded into JR's consciousness, an annoying sound that pulled him away from the place his mind had fled to and back toward the world of the living. His eyelids fluttered with the struggle to open, light making the insides of his lids pink. The sharp, instantly recognizable scent of hospital disinfectant hit his nose then; his mind fled the remainders of sleep and he woke.

The first thing he noticed was the stark white of the room, and, having spent his last twenty years in and out of hospitals, he knew that was what this place was. It wasn't one that he recognized, so not the hospital only a few hours from his hometown, but nevertheless it was laid out similarly. The rolling table full of charts lined out against the wall across from the bed he lay in, a small utilitarian dresser beside it, an empty plush chair sitting to the left. He half expected to see his mother's purse there, knowing that she had always accompanied him in his blackouts to the hospital, and yet there was nothing. No indication of her presence at all, and that was when he remembered.

The explosion, the meteors falling on them. One had headed right for his home, and the last thing that he had seen was the burning light of the space rock illuminating the terror on his mother's face. "Oh god," he breathed, and then gave a jolt of surprise.

The words had sounded out loud, clear as day. His voice was rusty, cracking as if it weren't used to being used, but he had spoken clearly. In fact, now that he was thinking about it, there were other strange things to pair with that. His headache, something that had very nearly been a constant for the last twelve years of his life: it was gone. Not even simply abated, but gone as if it had never existed before. Out of reflex he reached a hand up, not realizing that he had actually moved his arm easily of his own volition until he had actually touched his temple. 

And gave another jolt of surprise; he had hair. Pinching a lock, he pulled it forward so that he could peer up at it in amazement for a long moment, unsure of even what to think. Where to even begin. 

The click of the door opening pulled his attention away, and he turned - turned! - to look at the elderly man in the white doctor's coat. "Good afternoon, Jason," he greeted, and JR flinched.

"JR," he corrected automatically, and the doctor nodded in acknowledgement.

"JR, then. I'm Doctor Price. The nurses informed me that you had woken up; I am sure you have some questions for me..."

Did he ever, but where to begin? His gaze fell on the empty chair beside his bed and he asked the first question that came to mind. "Where is my mom?"

Maybe it sounded juvenile, but he didn't care: it was the most pressing question on his mind at that moment. Dr. Price, however, shook his head and moved to take the seat himself. "I am afraid I can't answer that, JR," he said kindly, maybe too much so. "But I can tell you things about your health. Like the fact that the Brain Stem Glioma is gone."

"Gone?" That didn't make any sense, it was impossible... "Celsol?" he asked, mentioning the name of the oral chemotherapy pill that he had been taking for the past year. Had it worked a miracle and cured him?

Dr. Price only shrugged, though, and shook his head slowly. "We're... not sure, JR. We'd like to run some tests but we need you to sign some consent forms first. But yes, I do suspect it has something to do with the Celsol, as well as some of the other... things... that you were exposed to. But the tests would tell us more..."

Tests and... papers? Why would he need to sign papers? He had signed Power of Attorney over to his parents as soon as he turned eighteen, why couldn't they... "Oh. Oh god no." They were dead. That was why they weren't there, why the doctor couldn't tell him anything. The pitying look that momentarily passed over Dr. Price's face was more than enough to tell him that truth, and suddenly, JR couldn't breathe. "Oh no oh no oh no," he gasped out, feeling lightheaded as he tried to comprehend this. His parents, dead? Was it the meteor? Why wasn't he dead? How was this fair? He had been ready to die, or at least as ready as someone can be; it wasn't supposed to be their deaths he had been preparing for! What this some kind of sick joke? How was any of tthis possible? How... Was...

"Easy son," Dr. Price soothed, standing up to pull a syringe from his pocket and twist the ca