As consciousness gently stirred, a spark of awareness flickered within him, illuminating the hazy realms of his mind. The tendrils of reality reached out, embracing him with delicate tendrils, coaxing him back to the waking world. It was a dance of awakening, an intricate ballet that gradually revealed the truth concealed in the depths of his slumber. The twilight of confusion still surrounded him, making him frown. He could not remember having gone to bed last night, could not remember what he had done before.
His head was clouded in a hammering pain, crushing his skull and he wanted nothing as much as reaching up and covering his head in his hands, but he found his arms too heavy to lift them, his fingers trembling in an unknown weakness and an even heavier weight keeping his right arm down on the cold bed he was lying in.
With a struggle born of determination, his eyelids fluttered open, revealing a world blurred and distorted.
Gradually, clarity emerged like a photograph developing before his still unfocussed eyes that were slowly blinking open, squinting against the harsh fluorescent light above him.
Only with more pain, he was able to move his head a little, looking around, trying to find out where he was.
He groaned when the pain became stronger, not a dagger in his brain and a hammer against his forehead, and he became aware that everything hurt, that not a single muscle in his body was without pain. And yet while feeling weaker than ever, he found the strength to frown at his surroundings.
This was not the bedroom back home he knew. Sterile white walls surrounded him, a sanctuary of healing that held the weight of unanswered questions.
A hospital room.
Tubes and wires snaked across his body, connecting him to the machines standing next to the bed, their purpose was a mystery waiting to be unraveled. As consciousness now slowly returned, he found herself in a disorienting haze. The world around him still seemed distorted, like a fragmented puzzle that refused to fit together. Colors blurred, shapes wavered, and the room still spun in a dizzying dance.
He again attempted to move, but his limbs still felt heavy and unresponsive, as if disconnected from his very being. Panic surged within him, a desperate desire to grasp onto something tangible, something familiar.
With the throbbing headache and a racing heartbeat, he fought against the disorientation, searching for any semblance of stability in this bewildering reality. Slowly, as the fog began to lift, he clung to the sound of the machines, the slow and steady beeping that told him that he was on medication stabilizing his heartbeat that otherwise would have sped up at his rising anxiety.
As his senses gradually returned, he became more aware of the faint smell of antiseptic filling his nostrils and sterile surroundings, confirming that he indeed was in a hospital room.
Sitting up as far as he could manage, he now noticed with an even deeper frown the bandages on his body and an IV drip connected to his arm. His right arm, which had earlier felt weirdly heavy, was in a cast, the fingers peeking out from the front looked bruised.
Yup. Indeed a hospital room.
But why?
Where was he?
And more important, who was he?
He blinked at the realization that he could not remember anything, not who he was, not where he could be, not what had been the reason for him to be in this hospital bed with bandages and bruises.
What had happened?
His head fell back into the soft yet cold pillows behind him, his eyes closing as he tried to remember anything, searched his brain for any memory that could tell him something about the things he should know, he had to know. Again, he opened his eyes, now not as blinking again into the bright light but staring at the ceiling, still trying to remember, still trying to make sense of anything.
Two light beams above him. The ceiling was covered in light grey square tiles that he started to count. Ten across, fifteen in the other direction. One-hundred-and-fifty tiles covering the room's ceiling, he instantly knew, trying to distract his brain from straining itself from forcing a memory back.
But his mind was still busy with unveiling what was still covered by the time he had spent unconscious.
The sudden fear that he had spent a time too long unconscious came to the surface, but then he remembered his cast, a sign that he could not have been longer without being awake than his maybe broken bone would have taken to heal, and a wave of at least a slight relief made him sigh.
Why was his wife not by his side when he was in a hospital?
His eyes widened.
A wife.
He was married.
With a frown he looked down at his left hand, but found no ring on his finger, but then realized that his hand was bruised and swollen, so they maybe had to cut the ring off his finger.
But he was certain his mind did not play a cruel trick on him. He knew he had a wife he loved dearly.
His left hand instinctively reached up for his chest, as if touching his heart, feeling for something, someone. And then he remembered—a vague notion of marriage, a bond shared with another person. But the details were still clouded, slipping through his fingers like smoke.
His mind was a puzzle, and he grasped at fragments of memories, desperately trying to assemble them.
Flashes of laughter and tender moments flickered in his mind's eye—a woman with a gentle smile, a voice that soothed his soul, but her face remained a blurred enigma. A beautiful woman by his side that others envied him for. His companion. His wife. His mate.
Mate.
He was not only mated, as he now realized, his fingers wandering to his neck, where he felt the rough scar tissue of a mating bite. He was mated to his wife, he was an alpha having found his omega, and a smile filled with something between sadness and happiness appeared on his lips.
And then, like a dam breaking, the memories flooded in one by another.
The sound of a lullaby, whispered endearments, the scent of freshly baked cookies.
His eyes widened with realization as he pieced together the fragments—a woman named Sophia, his wife, his life partner. The missing details began to align, forming a clearer picture. A picture not only of a loving wife and a happy life in a warm and comfortable home but also of a child.
He was not only a husband, not only a mate, he was a father. A sob escaped his throat at the memory of holding his newborn son in his arms, crying without reservations, not caring that alphas were supposed to not show emotions, his wife making fun of him for being so overwhelmed by happiness and emotions at holding the baby that he had missed being born because he had been away.
A son.
His son.
He pressed his lips together, blinking a tear away at the memory of the child that was his, that he loved with every single fiber of his being, that he would cross worlds and oceans for and fight away every monster under the bed or in the closet so his baby boy would have a good night's sleep, a child deserving nothing but love and sunshine and not the clouds that were lurking at the horizon for some reason.
A bittersweet smile curved his lips as he held onto these newfound memories, a mixture of confusion and gratitude swirling within him. Sophia, his love, his companion. The thought of her not being by his side in this hospital room tugged at his heart, but he clung to the hope that she would find him soon, to provide him with the comfort only a mating bond would be able to provide him with, making his injuries heal faster, nursing him back to health and to the man he was supposed to be and soon he would be playing on the grass of their garden with the boy who would surely soon start to walk and discover the world with the same curious, bright eyes that his father had.
A growing sense of unease flooded over him.
He should not be alone, he should not feel this empty.
She should be by his side, should hold his hand and talk him through the pain and confusion, smile at him to comfort him and make him feel less scared at all the things that still made no sense to him. He could not remember his son's name, he realized with a sob, could not remember his own, and she was supposed to help him remember, tell him stories to bring beloved memories back he had not been supposed to ever forget.
"Why... Why isn't she here?" his hoarse voice trembled with confusion, his eyes scanning the room as if expecting Sophia to materialize before him. The absence of her presence was a gaping hole in his heart, a question mark hanging in the air.
He searched for any sign of her - her scent, her belongings, anything that would explain, that told him she had been here and only had left the room for a moment to get something, maybe a coffee or something to read or talk to the doctor's about what happened. But the room remained still and silent, devoid of the warmth and life he had hoped to find.
Fear mingled with his confusion, a knot of uncertainty tightening in his stomach.
What had happened?
Why was she not by his side?
The unanswered questions haunted him, clawing at his thoughts.
His hands started to tremble as he held onto the memories that had returned. He remembered her smile, her laughter, and the way her eyes sparkled with joy. The love they had shared felt so vivid, so real, and yet, she was nowhere to be found. Tears welled up in his eyes, a mix of sadness and frustration. He could not comprehend why his mind had chosen to awaken these memories without offering him the solace of her presence. The void in his heartfelt unbearable, as if a vital part of himself had been ripped away.
He again clutched his chest, as if trying to physically hold onto the memories, to keep them from slipping away. The weight of his confusion and longing threatened to consume him, but he fought against it, determined to find the answers he so desperately sought.
A terrible thought appeared in his mind.
Had he had been in an accident?
Had his family been with him?
What if Sophia was not here because she had ceased to exist? What if his driving too fast had caused his beautiful wife to be erased from his life forever? Had he lost her? Had he lost his mate? What about his son?
His eyes were wide, filled with sudden fear, and his head snapped around when the room door opened just this moment, but not his stunning wife entered the room, but a man.
He was tall and slender and held himself with something that told him he was used to being in charge, and he was wearing an army uniform. His hair was cut short, not quite a buzz cut, but close to it and his dark eyes were filled with an immense pain he must have experienced lately as if a devastating memory was clouding his thoughts.
"You're awake," the stranger said.
"God, thank God, you're awake."
He saw the other man walk closer, but not daring to touch him, as if he was scared he could hurt him more with a mere touch of his hand, and only now that he was close enough for him to make out more details of the other, he saw that the soldier's handsome face was covered in cuts and bruises and a wound that looked like a burn on his cheek, only partly covered by a bandage as if he had taken it off to check but not put it back on at the same position as it had been applied by professionals before. The other man's right hand was bandaged as well.
"I should get a doctor, m," the soldier said with a faint, sad smile, his eyes still on him as if he was not quite able to grasp that he had woken up and he was looking at him. He must know him, must be close to him as the mix of relief and anguish upon seeing him awake showed.
"Do you want to sit up more? Need something to drink?" The soldier asked, standing there a little helpless, and only when he nodded, he moved a little closer and helped move the head part of the bed in a more elevated position, supporting him sitting.
"Thanks, Sarge," he said.
Sarge.
The other was a sergeant, his mind had offered. An army sergeant like himself.
He blinked a few times, suddenly remembering that he was a soldier as well. A sergeant in the army, an NCO like Henry was.
He looked at the other man, still blinking in confusion, seeing his name tag on the uniform telling him his family name. Quinn.
Sergeant Henry Quinn.
Henry.
They were soldiers, both of them. Teammates and friends.
"I should get a doctor," he said, his voice low and filled with a worry that he did not recognize.
He remembered glimpses of Henry, being strong and determined, but always a beacon of hope in whatever someone was going through, always someone who was able to offer a smile and a joke when someone was feeling sad at being away from home or was struggling with a task.
But this Henry standing there, as if he did not know what to do, was someone he hardly recognized as his best friend. There were tears in his eyes that Henry was so obviously trying to hide from him that it brought a pang of pain to his heart at seeing his friend in such distress.
"What happened?" He asked, not certain that he was ready to hear the truth.
"Henry?"
His voice was still rough and trembling, showing his devastation and uncertainty, but despite all that uncertainty to be faced with something that would break a part of him, he had to know the truth.
"I…," Henry started, taking a step backward, bringing a little distance between them that made him even more anxious.
"I'm not sure, Rome."
Rome.
Finally a name.
He was a sergeant in the army and was serving at his best friend's side since enlisting, a pair inseparable like brothers.
Roman Prescott.Sergeant Roman Prescott.
There was a slight memory of training, of them talking to each other for hours, laughing together, training together, serving their country with pride and honor.
He chewed on his lip, feeling the need to cry already rising, but wanted to stay strong as he was supposed to be as an alpha, but his eyes looked pleading at the other man, the other alpha, the other soldier.
"Please."
Henry nodded.
"Rome, I…," the man sighed and then added.
"Okay."
Henry came closer again, and then sat down at the edge of the bed, close to him, and the other alpha's scent filled his nostrils, erasing the hospital stench, and replacing it with the warmth and freshness his friend's scent carried.
The sergeant took a deep breath, looking at the hands resting on his thighs, licking his lips, and showing Roman how scared he was.
"What do you remember?" He asked without looking at his friend.
Roman hesitated, balling his less injured hand into a fist, his fingernails digging into the palm of his hand, trying to shut the fear he was suddenly again feeling out.
"Nothing," he whispered.
"I remember nothing."
Now, Henry looked up, his eyes large in surprise and shock.
"Nothing?"
Roman shook his head.
"We…," Henry started, knowing that Roman would not let it rest without getting some information from him.
"We were on a mission close to the border with our team. We still…we still don't know what happened, but there…"
Henry stopped and swallowed, and Roman could see darkness creeping over his friend's face that did not belong there.
"There was an explosion," he whispered.
"Something went very wrong, they are still investigating what caused it." The sergeant looked up, looking right into Roman's eyes, so wide in shock, in fear, in remembering what happened.
An explosion.
He remembered their team being close to the border, checking on something, the rumor that forces from the other side had infiltrated their country. He remembered the click, the sound he had only heard during training before. The sudden sound of a landmine being stepped on. He remembered the fear in the other soldier's eyes, the mouth open to say something, and then everything happened too fast.
"You saved my life," Henry whispered. Roman stared at his friend, pictures flashing in front of his eyes.
A tear was running down Henry's face, his voice had broken under the last words, his body suddenly looking weak as if having survived was a burden too heavy on his shoulders.
"We…," Hobi said, his voice not much more than a breath.
"We are the only ones."
"I don't understand," Roman said, understanding what he was saying but not wanting to understand the brutal truth of those words.
It could not be.
It could not be real.
This must have been a nightmare.
Roman laughed.
Yes, a nightmare.
He would wake up in the barracks, his bed next to Henry's and he would tell his friend about what he dreamed and they would laugh about it.
He would wake up in his bed back at home, at Sophie's side, telling her about his nightmare that made him wake up with sweat covering his body, and she would tell him what being a soldier was. Too dangerous for a man who was starting a family, and they would fight again about his career choice.
But instead, he was sitting in a hospital room, alone with his best friend, the only two that had made it.
"Tell me it's not true," he begged.
"Henry, please…tell me it's not true."
Henry shook his head, staring at the floor, tears now filling his eyes, unashamed of the pain he was feeling.
"Please."
Again, the other alpha shook his head.
"You turned so fast, and you jumped at me," he said, his voice low and carried by grief and anguish
"You…you saved my life."
Roman shook his head.
This was not real. It could not be real.
Tears were running from his eyes without him being aware of them, his left hand cramping into the covers of the hospital bed, his whole body shaking, and his heart rate increasing in the panic that was starting to fill every cell of him with electricity and dread.
He remembered that Bill had just told him a few days ago about the cute omega he had met while visiting his family last month and that they were talking almost every day on the phone.
He remembered that Ken had just married last year and had told them his omega mate was expecting their first child. He remembered Sam, James, and Jack, who were just starting their military careers and had a promising and bright future ahead of them.
His friends.
Men he had been spending his daily life with, joked with and knew everything about, friends more than teammates.
Again, he shook his head.
If this was not a nightmare, then it was a joke.
A prank.
The others would come into the room any moment and make fun of him for having been so gullible, would laugh with him and order junk food and spend time with him while he recovered from whatever accident had brought him to the hospital.
They could not be gone.
Suddenly, he remembered the fire.
The deafening blast.
The searing heat.
The chaos that ensued.
Remembered a noise that made his ears deaf to any other sound that followed, and then screams breaking through the thick wall of deafness.
Remembered the smell of smoke and blood.
Remembered Sam's voice begging, remembered Jack whimpering in pain, until he gurgled and his voice stopped reaching his ears.
Remembered something wet on his face and when he raised his hand, it was covered in blood.
Remembered the pain.
Remembered the agony.
Remembered…
Roman's heart ached as he remembered his comrades, those brave souls who had fought valiantly but had been taken too soon.
The weight of his and Henry's survival settled heavily upon his shoulders, etching lines of sorrow and gratitude on his young face. His mind became a battlefield, a constant conflict between gratitude for being alive and the guilt of living when others had not.
It could not be real.
"No," he whispered, trying to get up.
He had to get out of there, he had to find his friends and tell them they were idiots for pulling such a prank.
Had to talk to the doctors to make the illusionary memories that filled his head go away.
Had to find Sophia and have her hold him, had to find his brother and have the older tell him that everything would be good like he had done after their parents had died.
He had to get away.
Henry's hands were on his shoulders, holding him down when he looked up at him, struggling, trying to fight his friend off who was concerned that he would hurt himself further.
And suddenly, another realization hit him.
His eyes widened further, and his breathing hitched and stopped while he stared at his friend, wanting him to tell him this was not a reality he was not ready to face.
Realized that something else was wrong.
Something that would change his life forever and make his world crumble down further.
"I can't feel my legs."