At first, James hadn't known what a coma was. His parents, through misty eyes, had to tell him several times in the first week after his brother's injury. Now, he was the one who had to regularly explain the situation to people at school until the teacher would notice and tell the other kids to leave him alone.
 
The 8-year-old boy and his parents stood outside the door for a moment before James turned and said, "Um, could we have some privacy, please? Henry and I have important matters to discuss; no grown ups aloud."
 
"Okay, go ahead," James' mother said with a soft smile. "We'll be right outside if you need us." Slowly, James walked in.
 
The room was exactly how they had left it a couple days earlier. It was bright, like the rest of the hospital, but with a bit more character. In addition to the various machines that were monitoring heart rate and other vitals, balloons were tied to the bottom corner of the bed. On the bedside table, a handwritten card sat between a vase of colorful flowers and a carefully curated and configured collection of stones.
 
A boy who was 6 years, 3 months, and 4 days old but appeared simultaneously much older and quite a bit younger was lying in the bed. He looked asleep, but James knew better.
 
"Good afternoon, Sherlrock," James began cordially, invoking the nickname Henry had given himself about a year before. "I brought you another stone. I found it on the beach just as Mom said we had to leave. It's the best one yet. Maybe the best one I shall ever find, to be quite honest. I mean, I know you always say ‘Sedimentary, my dear Watstone! There's ever a grander treasure to discover,' but I think besting this will be quite the formidable task. At least I don't think I could do it; you've always been the master detective. I'm sure you'll find something incredible right after you wake up. I can't wait for you to wake up."
 
James slowly inched over to the bed, eventually hopping up with some effort to sit on the edge of it. "Mom and Dad aren't as good at listening as you are."
 
In his calculated manner, he placed the stone gently on the top of the pile and continued.
 
"You know, when you first started collecting stones, I really failed to see the appeal. They were just rocks, as Mom would put it. Dirty, bland, everyday rocks. There was no life there. But I...I see it now, Henry. I mean, look at this beauty, this pulchritudinous paragon of the geological world! This ripe fruit of the Earth's labor, brimming with life and energy. Every ridge tells a story, every change in color hints at ages gone by. Just looking at it makes it come alive, in a sense. But I don't have to tell you that, of course."
 
James looked at his brother's unmoving face, almost expectantly. After a moment, he quickly jerked his head away, hiding his own face from view. Just in case.
 
Just as James was about to drop off of the bed and leave the room, he heard something stirring. He turned to his brother, hope rising within him. Henry was still. The pile of stones, however, began to shift.
 
Assuming that his careful stacking wasn't careful enough, James lunged over to the stones to catch them. Unfortunately, he missed, his hands grasping wildly at air. Fortunately, that was because instead of falling, the stones rose, coalescing into a vaguely animal-like arrangement. Standing on four earthen legs, with a few craggy stones for a body and a string of pebbles resembling a tail, was a small, almost canine creature.
 
"What..." was the entirety of James' first thought.
 
His second thought, before he allowed the surprise to overtake him again, was "This thing's name is definitely Ruff, right?"
 
James stood frozen, his wide eyes transfixed through thick-rimmed glasses on the creature that impossibly appeared before him. 
 
"H-hi there," he said cautiously.
 
Hello, James, he heard in his head unexpectedly.
 
"Woah. Telepathy?"
 
Of a sort. Thank you, James. Thank you for doing this, from me and him, Ruff turned its headstone to Henry.
 
"Oh, um, no problem." Without looking away from the creature, James pinched himself. "Uh, Ruff?"
 
Yes?
 
"Knew it! I mean...what's gonna happen?"
 
I can make no promises, James, except that I will be here with him, no matter what.
 
James looked down solemnly. "How is he now? He looks...he doesn't look alive."
 
Even when it is dormant, life can persist. The life that you saw in me, it is the same life that rests in Henry. Anything can happen, James. I am proof—living proof—of that.
 
"Okay," James said, strangely reassured.
 
"James," his mother called from outside. "We should go before it gets too late. We'll come back tomorrow."
 
"I'll be out in a second," James called back before turning back to Ruff.
 
"You promise you'll look after him while I'm gone?" James asked.
 
I promise.
 
After a moment, James stepped down from the bed and squeezed Henry's hand with his own. Then, without letting go, he placed his other hand on Ruff's headstone.
 
"I'll see you tomorrow."
 
James exited the room.
 
"You ready to go, buddy?" his father asked.
 
"Yeah," James responded. "I am. May I have extra pepperoni on my pizza today?"
 
"We're having pizza?"
 
"Dad, don't be absurd. Of course we're having pizza. Oh, and chicken wings, obviously."
 
"Obviously," his father said, grinning at James' mother.
 
While James' parents began playfully arguing over whether or not having bell peppers on their pizza eliminated the need for a salad, James looked back at the now-closed door to Henry's room. Without his notice or permission, his eyes lit up just a bit, a small smile formed across his face, and a bit of the weight he had been carrying was lifted as some hope—some life—reawakened within him.
 
17

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