princehonorable | (no subject)

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He’s running through the forest.

--he is tending to the sheep.

The windmill is turning round and around, a woman’s voice in his ear asking if he likes the house--

The dragon’s breath roars fire over him.

And through it all, John Doe sleeps.

“As the prince chased the thief on horseback through the treacherous forests, his betrothed crossed her arms and pouted; wondering how many dreadful, boring minutes it would take until they could resume their journey…”

The voice drifts in and out of his consciousness. It’s not the first time he’s heard it and he thinks that he’s heard it before – in this world? Somehow? While he’s lost in this haze, there are ideas that come close enough to grip, but they always get away from him at the last minute. He’s left with his memories slipping through his fingers, but this is the first time that he has a chance at clasping a memory.

Is this a memory?

He knows this. He remembers this. The betrothed. He remembers her. Blonde hair and feathers. Something with an A? She’s complaining about something – maybe the bumps in the road or maybe it’s to do with his decision, but she doesn’t like it. Funny, but he doesn’t think he cares. He’s too busy in pursuit of a thief.

No. No, that can’t be right. This is a story. The woman is telling him a story.

“…they didn’t need words to express what they felt in their hearts. It was here, in the shadow of the troll bridge, that their love was born.”

This is just a fairytale. This is a story.

He struggles towards the sound of that voice, that light, and he tries to reach out towards her. He doesn’t even know what she looks like, but he knows what he feels. He knows that he trusts in that voice and that he loves that woman. He doesn’t know how, but he searches to find some hint of himself in this wasteland. He hears voices through the fog – ones that sound like his own.

Prince Charming, they say. Prince James. Nothing more than a humble shepherd and farmer, but the only name he hears spoken aloud is ‘John Doe’. He doesn’t know who he’s meant to be, but he’s fairly sure he’s not a prince in some old fairytale. Or is he? He has strange and distorted memories of a strange world with trolls and princesses and dragons. How can he have a memory of slaying a dragon?

“…Where they knew, no matter how they were separated, they would al…”

He reaches towards her, but he can’t escape this labyrinth. He’s lost. He’s lost and he doesn’t know the way out, but he does what any drowning man might: he reaches out for the life-preserver, hand extending outwards and clasping onto something warm and waiting.

He holds on tight. If there’s salvation to be found in her words, he’s not going to let go – not even for a second.

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However many strange things have happened around here, and Jenny has seen plenty, she's not sure anything could have prepared her for this. It would be one thing just to have a person appear out of nowhere, the way people do around here; she's explained this place before, and though she doesn't think she's very good at it, she's sure she could do so again, if she needed to. Having someone so suddenly grab her hand, however, is so startling that she has to swallow an instinctive sound of protest, stopping herself from pulling away only when she realizes that the man who was definitely not here a moment ago seems to be unconscious.

This is different, undeniably complicated, and she's not sure what to do with that.

"Hello?" she calls, hoping to attract the attention of someone else nearby, because she certainly can't figure out what to do with this on her own. "I — I think someone's just arrived."

Charlie's had appointments all morning, and he's on his way to the rec-room with a cup of coffee when he hears her. Soles of his Chucks squeaking on the concrete floor, he walks up to her, frowning.

"Okay?" he says, head tilted. "I mean, I know it can be quite disorientating, but most people usually figure it out quickly enough. You need help explaining it, or..?"

"No, he's —" Jenny says, glancing towards the boy who's spoken before she gestures down at the man, still lying on the bed, seemingly unresponsive save for the way he's grasped her hand. "He showed up here like this. He must be hurt, or sick, or something, but I don't think he's awake." It goes without saying, really, but this is still something new, as far as she can tell, and she's not really in a position to be making too many judgment calls about it.

"Oh, fuck."

He says it before he realises that he's going to say it and then he raises both eyebrows and glances at her. "Shit. Sorry." He studies the man in the bed for a moment. "We should do something."

"That's what I thought," Jenny says, nodding in agreement, unfazed by the swearing. If nothing else, the situation seems to call for it. "We ought to tell someone, I suppose. Make sure someone knows he's here and can look after him. God knows I don't know a thing about this."

"I have no idea what to do with him," says Charlie, rubbing one hand across his forehead. "Like, if he needed therapy, I could probably handle it, but I'm really not so good with...comatose?"

"Is that what he is?" Jenny asks, realizing a moment later that that ought to be completely obvious. He could just be sleeping, or sedated, she supposes, but he hasn't stirred yet, apart from reaching for her hand, and that's probably some sort of indication as to his current state. "Do you see any of his paperwork, a chart or anything? He showed up here with all of this, so I wouldn't be too surprised."

"He looks like he's breathing okay," says Charlie, bending down over the bed and listening for a moment, eyebrows raised. "I think we definitely need a doctor or something." He frowns.

"Oh, shit. Yes. I'm Charlie, by the way."

"Jenny," she replies, shooting Charlie a thin smile at the introduction. Of all the ways she could have met someone, this is probably among the strangest, but she's glad for right now not to have to figure out what to do about this on her own. Even if it ought to be simple enough, she doesn't want to take the risk of misjudging. "And that's good, that he's breathing alright. Let's see who's on duty, then?"

"You want to go?" asks Charlie, glancing down the hall. "I'll stay with him. I...I guess somebody ought to? Jesus, this is just fucking weird, isn't it?"

He raises his eyebrows.

"But, you know, I showed up in my underwear, so..."

"And I showed up from one of the worst days of my life," Jenny says easily, not seeing the need to give it any more weight than that. This isn't about her, after all, and she's come to terms with all of that in the way that involves trying not to think about it whenever possible. "So I guess it could go with anything. And yes, I'll go."

She's almost reluctant to leave the man's side after he reached out for her the way he did, something that seems unspeakably strange if he actually is in a coma, but she does so anyway, stepping out the door and peering down the hall, taking a few steps away from the room. "Hello, is there a doctor? I think we have a patient."

Chase had only been checking on a couple files he needed for the psych office when he heard someone calling for a doctor. He set the charts down and made his way into the clinic, giving Charlie a smile and a nod before trying to figure out what patient they could have been talking...

...about.

"Well, that wasn't there ten minutes ago," he murmured aloud, sliding his stethoscope into his ears to start taking vitals. "You found him?" he asked, of the girl and Charlie.

"Jenny found him," says Charlie, looking down at the guy in the bed and then glancing back at Chase. "I just...found Jenny, I guess. And we are, like, in no way equipped for this situation."

This coming from Charlie Bartlett, who's found his mother halfway through suicide attempts more than once. He's usually good in a crisis.

He hadn't exactly anticipated this.

"We really aren't," Jenny agrees with an emphatic shake of her head, lips pressed into a small frown. It's only a moment later that it occurs to her that there's probably more she should tell, her head still spinning slightly for the speed with which all of this has happened. "He also — I don't know if this helps, but he reached out for me. When he appeared, he grabbed my hand. He didn't move other than that, but that seemed like it might be good to know."

Chase furrowed his brow, checking the vitals of the man through pulse, breathing sounds, and then looked at the machinery, checking the records. She wasn't lying -- there was definitely a spike in activity minutes back, but he couldn't account for what it was. "It could've just been gas," he said, mostly to himself. He had to talk to House about this, thinking that there was no one better suited for the task than he was. "Nothing else came with him? No chart?"

"We haven't touched anything, Chase," says Charlie, shaking his head, eyes darting back to the guy in the bed, obviously worried. "So, if it isn't here, I guess...he didn't come with it?"

"He must not've," Jenny agrees, shaking her head. All she's seen is what's right here, everything having happened too quickly for her to even be bothered moving any of it around. "We figured someone should probably find out what's wrong with him."

Chase gave a quiet scoff, glancing at the coma patient, but having an idea. He could run some tests -- and would -- but there was a bored diagnostic mind sitting in his hut, doing nothing half the time. "I'll run it by House, see how his vitals stand." He offered the two of them a grateful smile. "Thank you for doing this," he said, first to Charlie, then to the girl. "Not everyone would've."

"Well, good thing we're not everyone, right, Jenny?" says Charlie, glancing across at the girl. "I'm supposed to be in the Psych office right now, anyway. So it's not even that much out of my way."

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