Remember Me Part I

By

Angelina

"For some people forgetting is like lighting a candle. The candle might disappear, but the wax is always there." ~ Unknown

The first thing he knew was a gradual return of light. The black lightened to gray before eventually coalescing into murky outlines. There were harsh sounds and movement all around him. Everything confused him, up and down held no meaning as he floated in a world of chaos. Something squeezed some part of him. He hadn't realized that he could feel until the vice like grip burned him. He tried to push it off, but nothing would respond to him. Did he still have a body? More sounds surrounded him. He cried out in raspy moans and hiccupped tears.

There was someone sitting by him. A familiar face floated in his muted vision. He tried to say hello, but all he managed was a weak blink before everything slid more or less sideways into darkness.

The world came back in bits and pieces. He was still floating, his sense of touch bizarrely muddled. Sound returned next as various foreign noises invaded his quiet state of confusion. Something was up his nose, obscuring his sense of smell. He pawed clumsily at the obstruction only to have his fingers caught and gently directed back to his side. A voice was saying something and it took his fuzzy mind a moment to piece together that someone was talking to him.

"You have to leave that in Dick," the voice instructed.

That's right, he was Dick Grayson. He groaned quietly as he became more aware. The shapes around him still swam, but he could make out more of the space he was in. Nothing looked familiar and the boy blinked in confusion at the monochromatic jumbled mess surrounding him.

"Dick," the voice called to him again and he turned his confused stare onto the man. Pipe tobacco, pin-stripes, leather, darkness, safety. The concepts surrounded the man in a sense of familiarity, but Dick was tired and he fell back into sleep before he could figure out who the man was.

It took several hours for Dick to fully come into consciousness. This time his vision returned more sharply and his senses weren't so muddled. A nurse moved at the side of the bed, talking in hushed tones with a doctor standing with her. A woman stood on one side of his bed, staring at something above his head. Dick recognized the woman as Dr. Leslie and smiled at her.

She gave a watery smile back when she noticed his attention, "It's nick have hack bave, Dick."

Dick's brow furrowed in confusion. He tried to ask what was going on, but his mind couldn't find the words and his voice could only make a terrifying grating sound. He panicked, grating cries growing louder as more people rushed to his bedside. He didn't know what was going on, who these people were, or what had happened to him. His world was completely consumed by a cloying state of madness that seemed to buffet him from all side at the same time that it suffocated him. When it was all over and the doctors and nurses had ceased their frenetic motion around him, Dick could only stare at where his hand disappeared between two larger ones before his mind began to shut down.

The period of time directly after waking up passed in a confusion of jumbled words, countless tests, and a bone clinging weariness. Just the act of blinking made Dick tired and most of his days were spent in the listless realm somewhere between waking and sleeping. Through it all, familiar faces always stayed by his side.

The tubes surrounding him began to disappear around the same time that words started to make sense in Dick's head to replace the constant barrage of concept thoughts and strange dreams. After passing a swallow test, he watched in morphine induced disinterest as a tube was disconnected from a suction container by his head and then pulled from his nose. Bruce sat at his side as the tube came out; holding tissues to his noise to catch whatever came out with it. For days afterward, Alfred sat with him as he patiently fed him, a task made difficult by Dick's increasing frustration and tendency to pinch the juncture of his neck where his central line disappeared into a vein. Dr. Leslie was always a comforting presence in the back of the room when the nurses came in to change his adult diapers or his dressings. Someone he knew was always with him throughout his waking moments and Dick rested in their familiar presence.

Finally, Dick regained enough strength to stay awake for longer periods. This, unfortunately, meant that he was forced to interact with the hospital staff more and more.

A man stood by his bed, gray head bent over a chart for a while before looking back at Dick. "Mr. Grayson-Wayne," he began.

Dick blinked at him. That was one of his names, right? God, why was everything so fuzzy?

"I'm the head doctor on your treatment team, Dr. Connors. Now that you're more awake, we would like to run some tests. Is that okay?" the doctor patiently asked.

The vent on the ceiling made strange noises as the fan turned back on. Dick stared up at it as he tried to process the man's request. He was team Connors thead doctor tread doctor on his on his theam teatment treatment the head doctor treatment thead doctor tream. A frustrated moan tore through sore lips as Dick realized he had completely lost whatever the doctor had been saying.

"Just a few tests, okay?" the voice of the doctor broke back into Dick's thoughts. He turned his head to look at the middle-aged man. The white of his lab coat matched the white of the ceiling vent.

"Dick, I want you to blink once for no and twice for yes. Can you do that?" the doctor's voice was firm.

Dick found himself blinking twice before realizing what was going on.

The doctor smiled tightly, "there you go. That's not so bad. We're going to run a few tests now, Mr. Grayson-Wayne. Do you understand?"

Dick blinked once and frowned when the man in the white coat frowned. He stared at the man, trying to remember what exactly was going on.

A nurse ushered in a few more important looking people in white lab coats and Dick watched them nervously as they hovered a short distance from his bedside. The doctor from earlier was talking again, but he couldn't reach the end of his sentences before Dick had forgotten the start. His surroundings were clear as day, but names were elusive and the language Dick could vaguely remember using every day was somehow twisted and distorted in his ears. He began to zone out as frustration zapped the little energy his last nap had left him with.

A hand softly cupping his shoulder startled Dick and he jerked slightly, pulling at something seemingly stuck in his head and jarring various aches and pains. He groaned miserably as he turned to face this new person. Bruce stood by his bedside, his face shadowed under hair that felt wrong to Dick for a reason he couldn't quite remember. Behind him, Leslie gave a slightly watery smile. The physical touch grounded Dick and brought him out of his headspace.

One of the doctors was mumbling to Leslie in the background, " – limited awareness. I think he's having issues with processing, not necessarily language comprehension. We need to reduce distractions if he's going to have any hope of following directions for a test."

Leslie met Dick's glance briefly before turning back to the other doctor, "inform Dr. Connors then, I can't do anything on that front."

Dick blinked at her for a few seconds. He had no clue what was going on. Why were there so many people by his bed?

The hand on his shoulder squeezed gently and Dick looked up to see Bruce standing there. His guardian's brows were drawn together slightly like he was trying to communicate something to Dick with just a look. The gesture was comforting and enveloped Dick in a sense of safety, but the boy couldn't quite figure out why.

"I flee fin," Dick managed to croak out to his guardian. Surprise washed over him a second after he heard his voice. He could still speak? Had he spoken?

Bruce's hand squeezed harder and Dick looked up to see him giving an intense questioning look to Leslie. The doctor looked back with confusion before being pulled aside by another physician.

"Wernicke's aphasia would be my best guess right now, which really isn't too surprising given the damage to his temporal lobe," the man in the white coat said to Leslie.

Dick grunted again in frustration. Wernicke's really bess right now, whicke's real lobe damage Wernicke's temporally bess risia would be too surpright now, whicke's aphasing given the Wernicke's right now, whisn't given too surprisn't guest now. Nothing made sense. He gave up trying to make sense of everyone in the room and fell asleep, Bruce's hand still a comforting presence on his shoulder.

The tests grow increasingly invasive as more and more equipment was removed from his person. Dr. Leslie had tried to explain what everything is for, but so far Dick could only understand there is a long tube disappearing in his neck that he keeps painfully pinching, a bolt in his brain (he discovered that one by tugging on it), another tube in an artery on his wrist (and boy, trying to find the word for artery was a pain for his overly taxed brain), and a standard IV line. Several other things attached to him had been explained, but he was easily distracted and couldn't follow their words anyway. A nurse finally removed a catheter from a not so comfortable place before Dick spectacularly wet himself. His embarrassment only lasted for a few minutes before the event faded to the back of his drugged mind.

Eventually, the doctors start to visit him on a more regular schedule. One inspects his brain pressure through the bolt in his brain, Dick laughs all the way through, to the great consternation of Alfred sitting beside his bed. Another makes Dick grasp at things and repeatedly touch his fingers to his thumb. Another tries to help Dick find words to understand what's going on around him. The process is excruciatingly slow but also goes by in a blur much to Dick's confusion.

He's lying in bed, the word finder doctor has just left, Dick can't remember his name. Bruce is sitting by his bedside reading the morning paper. Dick can now proudly recognize the word Gotham, but the rest of the paper is just a jumble of letters that hold no meaning.

He stares at the ceiling vent for a while, muscles aching from the nurse who keeps bending and extending his limbs. Bruce quietly hums as he readjusts the paper.

A knock on the door disturbs the quiet and distracts Dick from trying to decipher the newspaper. He looks up as a shockingly red head pokes around the door. "Wally." Dick is pleased to hear his voice slide more easily out of his mouth.

The redhead smiles and approaches with a gangly caution that is unique to the overly tall speedster. "How're you doing, dude?"

Dick puzzles the sentence over in his head for a moment, ultimately deciding the general meaning from the way Wally tilts his head and shrugs his shoulders. At least his ability to read body language hasn't gone out the window with his ability to understand language. "I think okay," Dick finally managed to force out.

A blinding smile lit up Wally's face at the small sentence and Dick noted with pride the indulgent smile Bruce hid behind his newspaper. Wally sat awkwardly beside Dick for a while, occasionally speaking up with small sentences about life. Dick followed a few things, for once in his life grateful for Wally's over-expressive body language and gestures.

"We miss you at Mount Justice," Wally said after another period of silence.

Justice We miss you at Mount Justice We miss you. Dick thought about that for a moment before he was distracted by the shiny lights of his vital monitor.

"I brought some visitors," Wally continued somewhere at the edge of Dick's concentration.

Visitors, that was a word the word finder doctor had just helped him with on his last session. He mulled over what that could mean and why he was having trouble remembering it.

Someone patted his shoulder gently and Dick glanced up to see Bruce standing by his bedside now. The paper was folded in his now empty chair. He said something, but Dick wasn't paying attention. There was movement on his other side and Dick flopped his head around, mindful of the central line still stuck in his neck, to see Wally walk out the door as two more people entered the room.

One was tall and dark skinned. The other was broad with a red symbol. Dick liked colours, he could associate them easily. The two boys walked slowly and unsurely over to him.

Dick looked over to Bruce and his mentor smiled encouragingly at him. He looked back to the boys as the one with the red symbol approached first. Dick blinked at him, was this a new doctor? Maybe a therapist? Why did he look like Superman? Why hadn't Clark visited yet? Dick had missed a lot of his friends while he had lain for hours in what felt like a prison. Words didn't make sense, and everything on his body was either numb or hurt. He enjoyed having familiar faces, concrete examples that he wasn't crazy.

Another hand ghosted over his shoulder and Dick flinched away from the touch. He scouted slightly closer to Bruce, feeling the hand on his shoulder tense. The doctors almost always explained what they were doing, why was this one touching him without telling him?

"Robin?" the tall, dark skinned one asked as he moved towards the foot of the bed and in to Dick's line of sight.

The name set off klaxons in Dick's brain. He was Robin but no one was supposed to know he was Robin. Why did this person know he was Robin? Who were these people? Why had they come? Dick's breaths came faster and he watched his heartrate and blood pressure spike on the vitals monitor. A nurse came into the room, swiftly followed by Dr. Connors, and the mysterious visitors-who-knew-something-they-shouldn't were ushered out quickly.

Bruce's hand rubbed small circles into Dick's shoulder, deftly avoiding bruises and broken ribs. He remained by Dick's side long enough for the boy to calm down. Dick whined slightly when a nurse took Bruce's place and his guardian was led away by Dr. Connors.

"Given his language difficulties we expected some memory loss, right now we need to figure out how much of his long-term memory was affected. Speak with him while I page Dr. Wright," the doctor explained to Bruce.

Given his long term memory loss, right now we need some memory was affected. Speak with his language Dr. Wright now we expected to figure out how much of his language Dr. Wright now much of his loss. Dick sighed as the internal monologue of confusing language kept spinning. Something inside of him gave him the feeling that he should be bothered by something Dr. Connors had said, but whatever that was sat just outside Dick's grasp.

Bruce returned to his bedside after a while and carefully sat back down. He casually unfolded his newspaper before looking up at Dick and quietly asking, "Do you know those boys?"

Dick mulled over the question for a moment before carefully forming his lips around the answer, "No."

Angelina: Wow, so it's been a while since I updated.

Arthur: Yeah, try a whole bloody year since you updated.

Angelina: In my defense, I was writing my senior thesis, and buying a car, and finding an apartment to rent, and trying to find permanent employment. You know, the whole "adult" thing that I'm magically supposed to know how to do now that I've graduated college.

Arthur: Yeah, life is bollocks, get over it.

Angelina: Anyway, this story was based on the story of Kim and Krickett Carpenter (who inspired The Vow) and research I had helped my best friend (a psychology and biology double major) conduct on long-term memory loss. I wanted to portray a more realistic view of traumatic brain injury and retrograde amnesia, especially amnesia as a memory issue rather than an issue of identity (i.e. forgetting who you are, losing your personality, or reverting to a previous personality). Everything listed here is a result of limited experience, cursory research, and way too much alcohol. If there is anything glaringly wrong, please leave that in a review or pm me and I will see if I can get it changed.

Arthur: So much hard cider, so much wine, so much rum, we make no guarantees of ever fixing it, but we'll try.

Angelina: Ignore Arthur. This story also marks the 5 year anniversary of Brothers! I can't believe it's already five years old. I started writing this in high school and here I am graduated from college and on to the workforce. I won't promise to update regularly, but I do promise that I don't plan to abandon the story and would like to continue it as long as I still love writing for the Young Justice fandom.

Arthur: This story was originally planned to be a long one-shot, but it's been hard to churn out the whole thing in the midst of leaving one job and looking for another.

Angelina: Right, so expect this to be in several parts, I'm hoping around four parts if I follow my outline.