Buddy was pulled away from George faster than he expected to be.

For a moment, he was sitting down, listening to shallow breathing and whirring machines. Talking to a response-less person got boring very quickly, even when he didn't truly know what George would say and the possibilities kept him occupied for a while.

Then, a nurse pulled him out of the room with not so much as a word and that was it. He tried to ask what was going on but he couldn't get much out of him. Maybe this nurse didn't want to be as busy as they were now, but it seemed like every time Buddy was checking in on Paul or George, this same nurse was always there.

Were they the only interesting thing that happened this weekend?

"Can you please just tell me why you pulled me out of my friend's room? We were having a very riveting discussion in there," Buddy said once again. He wasn't sure if the nurse was deaf, had selective hearing, or just didn't care.

He laughed, so maybe the last thought Buddy had was right at the time.

"I don't know if I'd call a one-sided conversation riveting . . . or anything riveting, really. But we just had to ask you some questions about what happened. Your friend doesn't remember a thing."

Which Buddy suspected, considering it was like he was talking to a broken record before they got split up. The needle would have to have hit that broken groove at one point.

"So he doesn't remember seeing George or . . ."

At this, the nurse stopped moving and Buddy did too.

"No," the nurse started with a face slightly contorted as he thought hard about it. "He remembers George, that's the only person he keeps calling for. But he doesn't know why he's here or anything that happened before the car accident. Has he done that more than once today?" Once he saw Buddy's face the nurse only appeared to get taller as if trying to make his point. "We need to know to rule everything out. He's been through a lot these past few days, a lot of things could be on the list of causes."

The taller of the two rubbed their face in a desperate attempt to make everything right in the world, only for everything to be exactly in the order it was before: chaotic with a side of heartbreak. Which is what he expected to happen, but he was hoping for some grand scale miracle which involved him getting out of bed and laughing at the nightmare with his two healthy and overly affectionate roommates.

"I don't know . . . he asked for the date a lot at one point. Out of nowhere, I think. Then a few seconds would pass and he would just restart and ask again. I thought letting him get out of bed would help that . . . but I don't think I thought it through all that well."

Buddy switched between biting his lip and his thumb as he said this, anxiety and guilt only flooding back into his system as he went over today's events.

"Mate, don't worry yourself sick about it-"

"I know!" Buddy yelled, but there was no malice behind it, only trying to get his nervous energy out. "I have to be there for them and I've been up for hours because I can't pray and I don't even know why I can't pray! I don't want to sleep and wake up and they're-"

Buddy's breathe hitched, lips shaking and vision blurring ever so slightly. He had to hold it in, though. He knew that if he broke the emotional dam now, everything would come flying out and he'd pass out from the exhaustion. And he wasn't sure the person in front of him could handle his tall but thin frame if that did happen. Plus, it would simply be rude for such a thing to happen after knowing this person for such a small amount of time.

A hand was placed on his shoulder tentatively and he jumped for a moment, scaring the hand away. It eventually came back, Buddy not scaring it away and the embrace bringing a small sense of comfort. Not enough to stop his shaking, but enough to get him talking again.

"I-I . . . I need to be there for 'em. T-they were there f-for me-"

"Calm down. The two of them would've had to have slept at one point, right?"

The nurse did have a good point. Buddy nodded slowly, hiccuping a quiet sob.

"So, at one point, you start helping them out by getting a little kip. Self-care is the best care we always say here and you're going to get to it. Now let's get to your friends."

The two of them walked down the hall again toward the room Paul was being evaluated in, the nurse leading the way like last time.

"W-what is your name?" Buddy asked as he tried to get his emotions out of control and far off of his mind. That probably wasn't what self-care meant to the nurse, but that was as close as he could get to it at the moment.

"Bob Montgomery. And you?"

"B-buddy." He nearly cursed himself for still stuttering over words but he wasn't sure that'd be great self-care either. "Buddy Holly. I'm from L-Lubbock, Texas."

The nurse smiled a bit at this. "Don't let the strong Liverpudlian accent fool you: I was born in Lubbock, too. Moved here when I was very young is all."

By this time, they got to the room the nurse-Bob-and into a whole different part of the hospital, not as suffocatingly bright with a sterile smell, just the creeping feeling of someone constantly watching and judging.

"You should . . . lower your expectations for what you're going to see. We had to give him something to calm him down from his hysteria earlier and . . ." Bob left his sentence hanging there as they stood in front of the closed door, looking at it with a sense of apprehension. 

Buddy only shrugged and opened the door, walking through with a surge of confidence as if this had happened to him before, having a friend go through all of this. He was only just ready to pass out from the dangerous mix of caffeine and no sleep.

Paul was sitting quietly in a chair across from what had to be a psychiatrist who was talking to him quietly with a small smile on his face. The second Buddy made himself known to the two people in the room, the psychiatrist got up and offered his hand in a handshake that Buddy gingerly accepted.

"I'm Dr. Starr, I'm your . . ."

Formalities. What was he to Paul? Roommate? Friend? Lonely American he found on the streets?

"Brother. Paul's like a brother to me. I mean we're friends, but . . ." Buddy looked and felt awkward, taking a step back to put himself all together now. "I'm Buddy Holly."

"Don't worry about it, I have a good friend and we have a similar relationship. Where are his parents or significant other?"

Buddy wanted to crawl into a hole and die at that. Paul was looking up at him with expectant eyes and judging from this episode earlier, he didn't seem to know the answer to either part of that question. Not wanting to traumatize the already traumatized patient, he motioned for Dr. Starr to follow him out.

It was only in the hallway that he noticed the other's very blue eyes. They were looking straight into his soul and . . . hating it, apparently.

"His mom is six feet under and his boyfriend and I wish we could say the same about his dad. I don't have his little brother's number, George—his boyfriend—has it. And George is in the hospital right now. But you can't talk to him, he's in a coma."

Dr. Starr looked like he just got hit by a bus and Buddy felt like he was the one driving it. His tough blue eyes got a bit softer but were still investigating the inner workings of his mind and soul.

"They normally don't let friends in . . . but if they finally take a moment to assess the situation, tell them Dr. Starr said it's imperative you stay here."

Suddenly, the psychiatrist turned to Bob, who looked like he was ready to go. Buddy felt a little bad for him, which was felt like a new emotion entirely after being fairly numb these past few days. He still couldn't believe he could say past few days after being awake for all of them.

"Please watch over Paul, I'm a bit worried about how quiet he's being. After everything, I expected him to come out here with some questions."

Bob nodded slowly, giving Buddy a quick look, almost reminding him about the self-care talk with his eyes alone before going into the room with Paul.

"I'm afraid to say Paul has a strong case for amnesia. Retrograde amnesia, to be more specific. I've notified some neurologists to stop by and see if they can get some brain scans, taking out any possibilities if this is caused by bleeding rather than the psychological trauma of it all."

Buddy had to snap his focus back to Dr. Starr's overly blue eyes at the end of the sentence, a little ready to start making a list for all that was wrong in the past few days. It might honestly be a long list at this point.

"Shall we go back in?" Dr. Starr asked and Buddy couldn't see any reason not to. His friend needed him and frankly, he needed Paul too. 

Paul looked up the second the door opened, watching Buddy particularly closely. Bob stood up from the chair he was sitting in, rubbing his eyes a little while doing so. Either Paul picked up how on his innate ability to tug at the heartstrings even with not all his memories intact, or they were laughing about something. Judging from the quick shared looks and small chuckles, it was the latter.

 "You two went out to talk about my parents . . ." Paul looked a little innocent and confused here, so Buddy nodded slowly and motioned for him to continue. The former looked more confident, but not totally at that motion. Buddy allowed for him to smile at that, that he could make his friend feel better in that moment. "Can you please tell me about them?"

Buddy, in that moment, also allowed himself to fall to the ground in a mess of tears. 

A/N: For a while, I'm done with making Paul look like he's progressively getting worse (he's not, I literally forgot to add this to the last chapter but also realised that having the mental state prognosis in a new chapter is pretty great) and getting to George, who I've mentioned but never really talked about. So, George is getting a chapter! Yes he is! And it's going to be happy because range in a story is pretty great!

Why am I yelling again?