Three? Four weeks?

He’d already lost track of time, but what he didn’t expect was to come face-to-face with a white ceiling. Everything felt natural. The plush pillow, warm blankets, soft mattress. And a faint beeping sound.

“What the—” Johnny muttered, rubbing his eyes.

He blinked, trying to clear the black spots in his vision. Lifting his hand caused sharp pain in his arm and chest, making him hiss. He sank back into the bed, weary.

Many questions filled his mind. He sighed, gathering his energy to sit up. The bed creaked. Light blue walls surrounded him; one window showed the hallway, the other, the outside. A hospital.

Oh no.

He saw Christmas gift bags and letters on a table, magazines on chairs. He picked up a bag, examining the tag: “De Alejandro, Rudy y Los Vaqueros”

“Awa’ an bile yer heid.” Johnny muttered.

He heard shuffling. You were waking up in a nearby chair. He saw no one else from 141, but seeing you was enough.

“Lass/Lad?”