#even searched the wrong thing looks like i should see a psychiatrist instead | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wangxiangiftexchange · 4 years

Text

Winter Solstice Gift for grannyweatherwaxshat

To my gift recipient: I hope that this is what you were looking for. I went along with the "Hurt/Comfort with a Happy Ending, Healing, Soulmate, and Mental Illness" suggestions all in one. I wasn't intending for this gift to get so long, but here I am with yet another multi-chapter hahaha. I hope you enjoy it!

Read on AO3

*****

The Springs of Life

"Welcome to the Springs of Life, a healing center for the soul. Please feel free to take a pamphlet on our activity offerings, and may your healing be swift and kind."

A pale blue pamphlet with a printed cloud motif was set into Wei Ying's hands. It felt glossy under his fingertips. It crinkled slightly under the pressure of his thumb and forefinger. Just as it began to crinkle, he had the sudden urge to smooth it out again. He pulled his hand slowly across the pamphlet, giving his best attempt at pulling it flat again. No matter how hard he tried, however, it wouldn't return to its original state.

He pursed his lips, choosing instead to pull his focus from his hands to the waiting room he stood in.

The whiteness of the room was probably intended to be neutral and soothing, but to Wei Ying it was a blindingly bright reminder of everything that was wrong with him. The soft blues of the furniture did little to offset it. There was soft music playing in the background, the kind that they typically played at spas to relax the customers. But Wei Ying wasn't a customer, he was a patient; and this wasn't a spa, it was an inpatient facility.

There were others in the lobby, but they blurred together without recognition. Families. Loved ones. People there to support the other patients' journeys to healing. It was uncomfortable. Wei Ying's lungs suddenly felt a bit too heavy. He swallowed audibly, turning back to face his sister who had been checking him in at the front desk all the while. "I... I don't really need to be here. It's for broken souls. Mine's fine. I'm fine. Everything is good. All I need is my job, my life, my family... I don't need... whatever this is."

Wei Ying's hand slightly shook. He hid it behind his back, desperately hoping that no one saw.

Jiang Cheng turned from where he was filling out paperwork to roll his eyes. "It's good for you, idiot. Just... go heal or whatever. Your life will be there when you come back."

"He's right. You need to go and heal yourself from the inside out. Then you can come back and be the happy whole A-Ying you used to be." Jiang Yanli said softly, worry evident in her kind gaze.

Guilt bubbled in Wei Ying's gut. He was fine. Really. He didn't need the white rooms and soothing music and soft blue furniture. His soul would be fine. Sure, thing's had gotten bad. But he always stepped up before, who was to say he wouldn't do so now? Still... he didn't want to worry his sister any more than he already was. He'd made a mistake. He should have powered through it all instead of moping in his apartment without leaving for three weeks straight. He shouldn't have let his family know how bad he was getting. He could handle it. Really. Most days, at least...

"Just take the help." Jin Zixuan said, scrunching up his nose. "This is the best soul-healing center in the country. Think of it as a paid-for vacation and come back after you're good and healed."

A mandatory vacation. Thought Wei Ying. He shot a look at his brother-in-law, but nodded in agreement all the same.

It's not like he wanted this. It's not like he wanted any of this to happen, for anything to lead to him standing where he was at that moment. He closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath and clenching his jaw just to feel the discomfort of it. It distracted him from the discomfort in his brain.

Jiang Yanli hugged Wei Ying. "Take good care of yourself in here. I'll miss you lots and lots the whole time. And then I'll cook you a big dinner when you get out. Okay?"

It wasn't okay. He didn't need to be there. He didn't want to be there. He was going to be left alone with a bunch of broken souls and have to force himself through class after class that attempted to soothe him, but only made him all the more unsettled. There was no fixing Wei Ying. Whatever he was, it was there to stay. Taking him into the facility was like signing away the last of his freedom. He truly doubted that he'd ever leave again.

"Okay." He found himself agreeing robotically. Funny, the things he'd agree to when his sister asked.

What could he do? They were the ones that broke down his door, that pulled him out of the burrito of covers on his bed, that forced him to shower for the first time in weeks. They were the ones that force-fed him, clothed him, led him to the car and away from everything Wei Ying had ever known. What could he do if his family no longer wanted to put up with him, with his shortcomings, and would prefer to send him off to some old facility to become someone else's problem?

A man in white scrubs opened the door from the lobby to the inpatient facility with a soft scrape across the floor and a soft thud as it his the door-stop. The soft sounds reverberated across the forefront of Wei Ying's mind. Everything else became white noise. Whatever his family was saying, whatever music was playing, whatever noise the other families seemed to be making, all of it became a low rumble. He heard the squeak of the door hinges, the swallow of his own throat, the tapping of someone's fingernails upon the front desk counter.

The man in white scrubs called out Wei Ying's name. He barely recognized the sound.

They made their goodbyes. Jiang Yanli cried some more and held him close. Jiang Cheng hugged him briefly. Jin Zixuan offered him a supportive nod of the head. And then Wei Ying was escorted through the big white doors that led to the inpatient part of the facility. And his family? They were gone.

This is a good thing. Wei Ying repeatedly told himself no matter how much he disbelieved it. He repeated the phrase over and over again like a mantra as he followed the man in white scrubs down the hallway. By the time he reached the end, he still didn't believe it.

Intake was a bit invasive. While they didn't do anything as untoward as a cavity search, they drew blood and took vitals and asked incredibly personal questions. They all seemed to blur together into a single block of mushed up dialogue in his memory, difficult to pick anything individual out. The female nurse in white scrubs scribbled notes on a clipboard as she asked her typical questions. They came out of her automatically, in a rote sort of way that only came from extended repeated use.

"Do you have any known triggers that could have caused the soul break?" She asked.

"No." Wei Ying responded automatically. There was nothing. Nothing was bad. Nothing was wrong. It was just the same old situations Wei Ying always found himself in. It was Wei Ying himself that was wrong.

"Any mental illnesses?" She checked another box in the sheet.

"How is that relevant?" He asked a bit more defensively than intended.

"Mental illness, when run unchecked, can cause distress to the soul." She explained. "Sometimes, if it gets bad enough, it can lead to a soul break. It is very common, especially in your age demographic."

"..."

Wei Ying didn't want to say it. Saying it made it real. Saying it was like admitting to weakness, like he needed all of this crazy expensive soul help. Which he didn't. He was fine. There was nothing off about him that wasn't off already. Nothing new happened. It was just Wei Ying. It was who he was as a person. There was nothing a bit of soul classes was going to do to change that.

"We can request medical records from the psychiatrist your guardians listed on your intake forms, but it would be easier for everyone involved if you just tell us outright. Not knowing how your brain chemistry will react to any sort of treatment can hinder your progress and leave you staying with us longer than necessary." The nurse said.

"..." Wei Ying released a heavy sigh, not even bothering to plaster on his typical sunny smile. These people evidently wouldn't be fooled, and he hardly had the energy for it anyhow. "The B word is scary, I know I know. But I'm really fine. I've got it under control. It's not... I'm fine. I'm good."

"The B word?" The nurse raised an eyebrow.

"... Bipolar disorder. Type II." He muttered under his breath.

The intake nurse nodded. "Any co-morbidities?"

Wei Ying pursed his lips. "Anxiety. ADHD. Insomnia. You know, the whole buy one mental illness get three free deal. But really. It's fine. I've been dealing with this for years. It's nothing I can't handle."

"It's not about how much you can handle. You are very strong for getting this far, and very brave for making the steps to see us today. It is not easy to accept that a soul has been broken, but getting to the point of admitting the problem and seeking treatment is already the first step to recovery."

Wei Ying made a face, but said nothing. The nurse continued.

"Do you have a soulmate?"

"No."

Ah, soulmates. Those uncommon-but-not-unheard-of special other halves that match your own very soul. It was one of those things that everyone knew someone who knew someone that had one, but most people never had direct exposure to one. Which honestly, was probably for the best. While a soul break would not necessarily cause damage to the other half of your soulmate pair, if both souls broke at the same time it could cause what was known as a "Complete Soul Split." It was the most dangerous form of soul-breaking. Not only could it cause permanent damage to the souls themselves when left unchecked, like the lesser individual or "partial" soul breaks, it could also cause damage to the delicate soul bond between the pair of soulmates. In worst cases, bond-severing and even death.

But that wasn't a concern for Wei Ying. He didn't have a soulmate, for one. And even if he somehow had one, which he didn't, he'd have to be unlucky enough to have broken his soul at the same time as Wei Ying. Which was... incredibly statistically unlikely. Soul breaks happened, but even they weren't that common of occurrences. The odds would have to have completely been stacked against him, and even he wasn't that unlucky.

Besides, he didn't have to worry. He was fine. Really.

"Okay then, everything seems to be in order. The door behind me leads to the common area. Feel free to get to know the other guests at your own comfort level. We will be serving dinner at six."

Wei Ying rose and left the nurse behind, but he chose not to interact with the other "guests." There were several people crowded around a table playing cards, another group quietly taking markers to coloring sheets, and a third circled around a quiet subtitled television. Everything in the room was the same color schemes as all the rooms before it, white in walls and pale blue in furniture. It did little to settle Wei Ying's unease. He watched a clock on the wall, eying the minute hand as it moved ever-so-slightly with each passing second. He found the rhythm oddly calming, as if it were the one thing left of the outside world that could keep him from drifting away into the cloud-like rooms of the inpatient facility.

Despite typically being an outgoing person, Wei Ying couldn't find it in himself to put on his happy facade. He wished to be alone, to hide away from the world as he once did in his apartment. He couldn't do that yet, however. He hadn't received his room assignment yet.

He found himself drawn to the empty pale-blue living chairs in the back corner of the room. It was slightly darker there, as if the light couldn't fully reach it. Wei Ying immediately liked that about it. There was a man sitting in one of the chairs, reading a novel in utter silence. He liked that too. The man sitting in there was calm, quiet, peaceful. He simply sat in a perfect upright position and turned the pages of his book every-so-often. Wei Ying found his place at the man's side, leaving a chair's space between them out of courtesy.

Wei Ying may have been known to be bold and tactile, but he found that that part in him had diminished along with his soul. He pulled his knees in to his chest, closing his eyes and resting his head upon his knees. Time passed between them. Wei Ying found that he felt comfort in the man's presence. The man was grounding, a constant that neither moved nor spoke, a hand to grip Wei Ying before he floated away.

They remained like that as time continued to move around them, stuck in their own bubbles of comfort. Eventually, the intake nurse in white scrubs found Wei Ying and pulled him back into her office. As he stood to leave, however, the man with the book looked up at him. They caught each other's gaze for a moment, something slight sparking in the abyss of their eyes. He was beautiful, that comforting man. His clothing matched the rest of the facility in color palette, but was distinctly stylish. A soft flowing somewhat-sheer blouse in light blue sat over a white tank and white jeans. Had they been permitted to wear shoes, Wei Ying imagined that he would probably have chosen white for them as well. His look was completed with a pale blue ribbon tying up the top half his shoulder-length black hair.

A tap on his shoulder pulled Wei Ying's gaze from the man in blue. He offered the man a soft smile that didn't reach his eyes. The man returned the favor with an expressionless nod of his head. He followed the nurse back into her office, taking a seat as he stared at yet more white walls.

Cleaning this place must have been a bitch.

"Mr. Wei," The nurse interrupted his straying thoughts. "The results of your physical examination indicated something irregular. We ran the blood test as a precaution to rule out anything unusual, but it unfortunately confirmed what we initially suspected. We are happy to inform you that you do, in fact, have a soulmate. Regrettably, you and your soulmate have both experienced circumstances dire enough to cause a Complete Soul Split."

Wei Ying blinked. What? A soulmate? Him? How could he, out of all of the people in the entire world, get the unluckiest draw? Wasn't it enough that his soul was already broken? Did life truly have to gift him a soulmate only to have them ripped from him before they could even meet?

Well, what did he expect, really? This was Wei Ying. Literal human disaster. False genius. Faker of ingenuity. Speaker of tall tales. Of course he couldn’t have simply just not had a soulmate. Of course life had to tear him down just that much further.

Wei Ying suddenly felt very small and very empty. Very small and empty indeed.

"Your treatment period will need to be lengthened to accommodate your new diagnosis, but not to worry. You won't be alone. We have another guest that will be attending the specialized classes for Complete Soul Splits along with you. Ideally, you would go through the classes along with your soulmate so that you can heal together to avoid re-splitting. Is there anyone you can think of, anyone at all that could potentially be your soulmate? Anyone that you felt even a slight pull towards even if you met them in passing? Having the pair of you heal together can speed up the process and help mitigate some of the potentially permanent effects."

Wei Ying shook his head. There was no one. He was as alone as always. Just Wei Ying stuck in a head full of swirling, racing, stampeding thoughts.

☀︎

Dinner was an uneventful affair. The food was about as exciting as the decor, and Wei Ying pushed it around on his plate for the majority of the lunch hour rather than actually eating. He searched for the pretty man from before, the one that he'd shared that oddly intimate gaze with. The man was nowhere to be found, however, and Wei Ying had little energy to try and join in the conversations at the pristine white tables surrounding him.

He knew it wasn’t like himself to be withdrawn. He was social, enigmatic, friendly, and exciting. He lived for conversation and never shut up and genuinely enjoyed being around people. Typically, at least. When he wasn’t holed away in his apartment during a bad depressive cycle.

Perhaps his Complete Soul Split had done more of a number on him than he initially expected. Could a soul break... really change the core of a human to that extent? To make them a shell of their former self? Or perhaps it was his former self that was the shell, and this empty mess of a person was who he truly was all along. It was a disheartening thought.

Wei Ying followed slowly behind the crowd of broken souls as they exited the dining hall, making his way back to the chairs he’d first sat in after his arrival. The pretty man was nowhere to be found, but he found himself seeking the comfort of the chairs nonetheless. It was easier to stick to himself, far from the crowds. He was safe there in his loneliness, blessed to be free from the obligation of pretending to be anything but the broken human he knew himself to truly be.

He spaced out for a while, following trails of thoughts that tumbled about and went nowhere and everywhere at the same time. He detachedly observed the tables at which people were playing cards and games. It looked fun in a distant sort of way, as if it was fun in concept but couldn’t exactly be applied to him personally.

Eventually, after an indeterminate amount of time had passed, the patients were gathered for a group therapy class. It was set in a moderately-sized room with couches and chairs lining the walls to create a sort-of circle for the patients to sit in. Wei Ying immediately sought out a chair in a corner that was pushed slightly further back than the neighboring couch and chair.

Once the patients had finished filtering in, Wei Ying finally caught sight of a familiar face. The man in white and blue silently took a seat across the room from Wei Ying, giving Wei Ying a small nod of the head before turning his attention to his hands in his lap.

Though no emotion crossed his blank face, Wei Ying couldn’t help but to feel somewhat comforted by the simple gesture. It was nice having an ally in this cloud-like atmosphere. It was... grounding, in a minute way. Just as it had been earlier that day. As if the man’s very presence gently grasped Wei Ying’s sleeve and pulled his drifting head from the endless ethers and back into reality.

The class began with the instructor introducing himself as Xie Lian, a licensed therapist with a specialization in soul healing and (more importantly) a survivor of a Complete Soul Split. There were a few gasps amongst the crowd, the newer patients evidently not having had worked with Xie Lian yet.

The man in the sheer light blue blouse didn’t bother looking up from where his gaze lay upon his hands. His blank expression seemed somewhat somber despite its indifferent appearance, and a small part of Wei Ying longed to reach out a hand to gently touch the man’s face in a show of comfort. That part was, fortunately, reigned in by the physical distance and societal convention separating them.

“We have a lot of new faces with us today.” Xie Lian smiled. “Well, let me welcome you to the Springs of Life. We’re all here for a common goal, right? We all came here from different places in our lives to try and heal ourselves. Healing is such a powerful act, and together I hope we can find the strength in each other to help lift ourselves up.”

A few faces nodded in agreement. Wei Ying remained as he was. He highly doubted any amount of happy words and supportive surroundings would be able to bring him back from a Complete Soul Split. His own sister couldn’t manage to do it so far, and she was the living embodiment of positivity and support.

No, Wei Ying was certain. Certain that he would never truly be able to recover.

Xie Lian handed each patient a blank sheet of paper and a brightly-colored marker. "Today," He began. "We will be compiling a list. You may list as many or as few things as you like. Today's topic will be 'Obstacles.' I would like each and every one of you to jot down a few of the obstacles impeding your life from getting to where you want it to be. What is getting in the way of your healing? Of your progress? Of your goals? What obstacles have led you to this very room?"

Wei Ying popped the cap off of his blue marker, but somehow couldn't manage to touch the ink to the paper. He glanced around the room, eyeing where the other patients were obediently scribbling away. His gaze returned yet again to the pretty man in the pale blue blouse. The man popped the cap off of his red marker, expressionlessly wrote down a single word upon his piece of paper, and then closed the cap once again. Wei Ying returned his attention to his own paper. He sighed deeply and began to write.

1. My brain

It was his sick brain, after all, that had gotten him into this mess. If he only could've held it together, or if he hadn't had to bother with mental illness in the first place, his soul most certainly wouldn't have broken. His life was fine. Everything else was fine. It was just Wei Ying that wasn't.

2. My soulmate

This issue was, in part, due to his soulmate as well. The pair of them created a

Complete Soul Split

together, which most likely is what incapacitated Wei Ying in the first place. So it made sense, then, that his soulmate was partially to blame. Deep down he knew that such projections were childish. It was not as if his soulmate chose to break his soul, just as Wei Ying did not choose to break his. But a far more childish and petty part of Wei Ying's mind enjoyed having someone else to blame. To resent. To feel bitterness towards. Even so, Wei Ying found that writing those two words did not bring him any comfort.

3. My-

He hesitated. There were a million things he could put in that place, but ultimately only one held truth. He scratched through the first three points on his list and instead started anew. He wrote upon the page only one single thing:

Myself

For ultimately, it did not matter that his brain was sick or that his soulmate caused him potentially irreparable damage. It did not matter his relationships with his family and friends, nor did it matter his place of residence. It did not even matter whether or not he enjoyed his job. And... he did. Sort of. Most days. He enjoyed the flexibility of freelance work. He loved creating new designs, even if they had to be constrained to the requests of his clients. He took great pleasure in lording the fact that he didn't have to go into an actual office over his brother's head.

But none of that mattered. Wei Ying's greatest obstacle, as always, was ultimately himself.

Eventually, the caps of the markers closed and Xie Lian stood with a soft smile upon his face. "Good, good. I'm glad to see everyone feeling so participatory this evening. Now anyone who would like to is free to share some of what they put upon their list. Some people may feel the need to protect their privacy, and that is also okay! But for those of you that feel like sharing, we can go around the room counter-clockwise. I will begin with one from my own list."

Xie Lian took in a deep breath and continued. "A large obstacle in my life right now is conflict between those closest to me. It makes me feel obligated to step in and fix things, but that is not always the healthiest or most needed step of action."

The patients nodded in understanding. Then the person to Xie Lian's right declined. A few patients here and there began to share things from their own lists: poor communication, a dead-end job, an unfaithful spouse, etc. Wei Ying had begun to tune them all out when he found himself being asked to share. He stared upon the single word on his own list, looked back up at Xie Lian, and shook his head. The moment passed, and other patients began to share their own obstacles as well.

The attention made its way around the circle, eventually reaching the man in the light blue blouse that had yet to look up from the paper in his hands since he first wrote it.

"Mr. Lan?" Xie Lian asked. "Would you like to share any of what you've written with us?"

The man in the light blue blouse, Mr. Lan, slowly looked up from his piece of paper. His eyes met Wei Ying's for a single electrifying moment before he turned to look at Xie Lian. He then turned his piece of paper around for all to see.

Wei Ying couldn't help but to gasp. He'd thought the man attractive, surely. And electric. Magnetic, even, one could say. But he was also cold and distant, untouchable in an indescribably distant way. Yet, somehow, this man that appeared to float amongst the very clouds that formed the motif running about the Springs of Life had come to the very same conclusion that Wei Ying had.

Mr. Lan had written a single word in large red strokes:

Myself

Wei Ying studied the man's blank face, searching for any sort of explanation as to why he'd answered the same. When the man offered none, Wei Ying flipped over his own sheet of paper. The man's eyes widened and his jaw dropped ever-so-slightly, creating a small 'o' between his lips. They shared an electric gaze fueled with curiosity. They remained locked in their shared silence for several moments before Xie Lian cleared his throat and re-diverted the attention back to the class at hand.

"Thank you, thank you. Anything either of you would like to elaborate on that tonight before we move on?"

Both Wei Ying and Mr. Lan shook their heads. Xie Lian gave the last few patients a few moments to speak before the attention finally circled back to him. "Good, good. Now then, next I would like each and every one of you to take the paper within your hands. Now imagine that this paper holds the very obstacles you listed. Good. Envision it. Feel it. Believe it. Now take the paper and tear it to your heart's content. Don't hold back. Really let those obstacles have it!"

The sounds of ripping and shredding sounded throughout the room as everyone appeared to rather enthusiastically fight their problems. Wei Ying's eyes met Mr. Lan's. There was almost a... twinkle of amusement in his tired eyes. It certainly was odd to ask the pair of them to tear up representations of themselves, but in a way Wei Ying supposed that might have been exactly what he wanted. He ripped the paper. Tore it. Decimated it to smaller and smaller bits. It certainly was cathartic, even if the metaphor was probably not what Xie Lian intended. Mr. Lan ripped his own as well, albeit in a much more calm and organized fashion. Wei Ying found his own amusement in the action.

After all of the obstacles had been good and obliterated, Xie Lian began to hand out a second sheet of paper.

"Now then," He began. "Let's start the next bit by writing down how we can see our lives with our obstacles no longer holding us back. Really dig dip and envision it. I want everyone to really put in the effort to visualize it."

Wei Ying looked upon his blank sheet of paper. What would his life be like if he didn't get in his own way? What would he see? What would he feel? What would he be?

Wei Ying decided that he had no answer to any of those questions. He left the page blank, setting it to the side and bringing his knees into his chest. He spent the rest of the time observing Mr. Lan, who sat long and hard staring at his paper with the slightest furrow in his brow. He noticed that Mr. Lan wrote nothing either.

"All right, all right. Now then, I'll start the sharing and this time we'll go clockwise." Xie Lian instructed. "I envision that when my obstacles are overcome that I will find a more peaceful environment where I can have more group gatherings."

A handful of patients either skipped or shared, then made their way to Mr. Lan. Mr. Lan glanced between his blank sheet of paper, Wei Ying, and Xie Lian. Xie Lian smiled encouragingly. Mr. Lan eventually shook his head, choosing instead to skip his share. Wei Ying didn't miss the slight look of disappointment that crossed Xie Lian's face before he returned once again to his perfectly sunny disposition.

The remainder of the class skipped and shared, but Wei Ying tuned out the noise. His focus was drawn to the white of the walls, the fabric of the chair beneath him, and the silent rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. Wei Ying wasn't sure if or when he was addressed, only returning his focus to the moment at hand when everyone began to stand and filter out of the room. Mr. Lan looked ready to bolt immediately, but Xie Lian called him back to stay behind.

Wei Ying slowly rose to his feet, knowing it was rude to eavesdrop and yet wanting so very badly to know any sort of detail about Mr. Lan. He made his way out as slowly as possible, picking up bits and pieces of dialogue as he made his way out.

"I'm very proud of you sharing today."

"You've gone so long without speaking up that I was worried about the lasting damage to your soul."

"You've made good progress, but you have to be willing to keep going, okay?"

"Your brother sends his regards. Your uncle, too."

The door closed being Wei Ying with a click. Suddenly he was back once again in the main gathering area with all of the other patients. They had resumed their card games and coloring pages, eager to discuss all sorts of unimportant bits of chatter. The sort of useless chatter Wei Ying once loved to partake in.

He sat once again in the chairs in the corner, bringing his knees into his chest and resting his head upon them. This was his life now. This was where he would remain until the facility finally realized that Wei Ying would be an incurable case. Until, perhaps, he even died of Complete Soul Split. He didn't want death, not really. It's just that he didn't much care for life. Not as it was, so empty and banal and draining. Not with the heights of pain and depths of despair. Not when he, and likely his soulmate as well, were broken beyond repair.

Wei Ying closed his eyes, listening for the gentle tick-tock of the clock on the wall opposite him. He could hardly pick out the sound over the noise, but once he managed to isolate it he focused on it and drowned himself in its rhythm.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

The white walls and pale blue furniture that decorated Wei Ying's new life fell away. The sounds of the world around him ceased to exist. It was just Wei Ying and the gentle tick-tocking that grounded him and prevented him from truly flying away.

Tick. Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

The strict rhythm allowed for no error, no manner of mistakes. It was a force to be reckoned with, not a disaster waiting for a moment to go off. It was... everything and nothing at all. Even as Wei Ying fell far enough into his head to disappear, the tick-tocking still stuck to the forefront of Wei Ying's mind. That, and the sight of a soft pale-blue blouse gently blowing in the breeze. Everything else, including Wei Ying himself, momentarily ceased to exist. But the clock and the blouse? They were all that remained in the world.

TBC...

#grannyweatherwaxshat #wangxiansolstice20 #*fic20 #*gifts20

3 notes · View notes

shamelessselfpromotingsite · 3 years

Text

Free Read I hope you love my short story below. If so, please review it on my twitter account or here. @lindeenen. Enjoy THIRTEEN By Linda Deenen Thirteen claps, fingers fully extended, not to fast, not too slow, followed by thirteen emphatic blinks. This is how I start every new activity. It’s not lost on me how ridiculous I appear to anyone forced to watch this senseless ritual. Hell, I don’t want to watch this senseless ritual, let alone perform it, but I’m powerless to stop. Two years ago, after the death of my husband, the clapping started. Thirteen, no more no less. Yes, of course, I saw my doctor. (My boss politely insisted.) Doc assured me it was a traumatic stress disorder manifested from my grief and said I should give it time. Time didn’t help. Instead of getting rid of the clapping, my routine expanded to include thirteen comically precise blinks, performed immediately post clap. This new affliction didn’t garner as much sympathy,as you might think. People around me, now suspecting it was an attention getting tactic, were becoming annoyed. My physician soon recommended I speak to a psychiatrist to help resolve the internal conflict I was having. Personally, I think she was incapable of sitting through one more appointment with me and passed me on for another to bear. Thirteen claps and thirteen blinks. The psychiatrist found it fascinating. The specific number and precise aspect of my affliction were things he hadn’t encountered before, but was certain we could figure out together. “Do you feel uneasy if you don’t clap thirteen times exactly?” he asks me, inquisitive eyes boring into mine. “Have you tried twelve times to see if that would work as well?” A lock of dark hair breaks away from the carefully coiffed style and slides attractively over his arched eyebrow. His lips are pursed, expression concerned, his head nodding encouragingly as I explain I’m unaware of when the clapping will start or stop. He appears less sympathetic when I reveal that the act leaves me no more or less satisfied than I’d been before. Neither did it relieve stress nor create euphoria. His jaw drops with outright disbelief, when I mention that the episodes occur even while I’m sleeping and actually wake me up. “Most, uh, no, that’s not right.” He struggles “Really, I have to say all of the syndromes I’ve treated over the years were initiated by the patient. They might be in denial and blame something else, but ultimately, with my help, they realize they’ve created these behaviors to counteract a buildup of anxiety within them. “ He shifts his bulk uncomfortably in the massive black leather chair and feigns interest in a small squeak from the cushion. I assume he’s searching for the correct words to tell me I’m crazy. Not a surprise really, I suspected as much and would actually be happy with a confirmation. “Ahem” Having given up on the inscrutable creak, he clears his throat and pontificates. “The subconscious mind is quite capable of bringing things to the surface when we aren’t paying attention, for example,” he gestures sideways, “sleeping. Thoughts, memories, that kind of thing, but initiating gross motor movements, like clapping, shouldn’t happen.” He lowers his chin and peers at me from under his bushy eyebrows. I smile and shrug. “You’re likely waking up anyway when you start the clapping routine.” The corners of his mouth turn up as he intertwines his fingers and rests them on his plentiful paunch certain the mystery is solved. “Do you understand?” I understand. He thinks I’m either faking or exaggerating. Been there, heard that. I smile and shrug. He glances at his watch, probably hoping my session is finished. It isn’t, there’s still an hour left. He emits a loud sigh. “I won’t be able to help you if you aren’t open with me and since you either can’t or won’t discuss your feelings, I think we should try hypnotherapy.” He stands up smoothing out the wrinkles in his tan linen pants. “Why don’t we move to the couch so you can lie down.” I knew I shouldn’t be flip, but given his pompous attitude, I can’t help myself. As soon as the clapping and blinking stops… I smile and shrug. He rubs roughly at his scalp as if something there is bothering him. Mission accomplished, I stand up and move to the couch. When the clapping and blinking allows, I close my eyes and focus on his voice directing me to relax. I’m just acknowledging that the tone and cadence of his voice might actually put me to sleep, when I hear him insisting that I open my eyes. When I do, he’s standing above me, forcefully snapping his fingers and calling my name. I want to sit up in response to his emphatic request, but I’m unable to comply. None of my muscles respond, not even to clap or blink. I’m not unsympathetic to his distress at my not obeying his demands, but this is something I haven’t experienced before… inertia. My life has changed dramatically in the two years since my husband’s death, and not for the better. I lost my job for spending too much time performing a ritual that not only disrupted my performance but that of all those around me. Worse than the job was the loss of my constant companion, my beloved Australian Sheppard, Kitty, who stood by my side at the funeral home and the gravesite, giving me support. Yeah, that one sucked, but my clapping and blinking was eating up so much of my time, I had none left to take him on walks or even feed him. Grab his bowl – blinking – get the leash – clapping – put on a shoe, blinking, etc., you get the picture, and It’s not like I just left him on a street corner or something. Hmm… well I guess I kind of did. I gave him to the homeless guy who had installed himself at the off ramp near my home. It seemed like a win – win to me. Kitty would get walked back and forth all day and the homeless guy would attract more sympathy because he had another mouth to feed. My point being, it seemed to the doctors and even to me, that at least some of these events should have caused me stress, but, not so. Except for the clapping and blinking, I’m having the time of my life. Of course, I am using the life word loosely, because the here and now is where I am. Sleeping, I don’t dream, awake, I have no memories or regrets and I don’t waste any time looking forward. Emerging from my self-indulgent reverie, I notice the psychiatrist is red in the face and has given up snapping. Maybe his fingers cramped? But he still, obviously wants me to get my ass off his couch. I give it a try and, surprise, surprise, the clapping starts, only this time, it’s not thirteen precise claps, it’s a frantic slapping of limp palm flesh against limp palm flesh, in a flurry of unstoppable blows. What the hell, this is fantastic. I can hardly wait for the blinking to start. The psychiatrist, apparently unwilling to wait for the astonishing show my blinking will make, grabs my hands, which immediately puts a stop to the clapping. I wait. I wait. Nope, no blinking starts. A shiver of disappointment at having been denied this heretofore unseen spectacle, rushes through me. Seriously, what is wrong with me? I’ve obviously given up control to the seriously stricken psychiatrist, because he has raised me up from his couch, taking time for a quick glance to make sure I haven’t soiled his lounge, and moved me forward to my previous perch by his desk. Suprisingly, he doesn’t reclaim his position of authority upon his leather throne, but maintains his unwelcome hold on my appendages and kneels before me like a peasant in supplication. I want to look away but for the first time in recent memory, I have a shaky, queasy feeling I assume is the one called, anxiety. Fearful now, my heart beats fit to burst, and I desperately try to pry my fingers out of his sweaty grip. “Don’t panic,” his warm breath flutters on my cheek and he moves his hands on top of mine, pressing them heavily into my thighs. I’m positive if he releases them, thirteen claps will appear, but he doesn’t give them a chance. As if reading my thoughts, he presses harder into my legs. “I can see you’re feeling uneasy, but I would like you to do something for me” his insipid, half smile looks hopeful. Not likely, my inside voice quips, but focusing is getting tough. Another time, I might have enjoyed the wobbliness of feeling semi drunk but now, I am concerned. Uneasy? I’ll see your uneasy and raise you one hysteria. Heat is streaking up my limbs, threatening to vaporize me. I have a primal urge to flee. I order my legs to stand, but not one neuron makes an effort to perform this feat and I remain a prisoner in my body. “Can you picture your husband, before he became ill. While his body was being ravaged by cancer, you had many conversations with him about his impending death and how much he wanted you to survive.” I could feel the hair on the back of my head moving softly back and forth. Was he patting me? I really need to leave. Even the years of clapping, blinking, clapping, blinking, did not distress me llike this, in this moment, I’m terrified. I don’t know why, but I can definitely identify this emotion as terror. What’s happening? Dully, I understand that while I have been focusing on my terror and need to get out of here, a sticky, heavy haze has oozed in my right ear and is blanketing my thoughts. Nope, not happening, no friggin way. I’m in control and I ‘m going to leave. I see now, I made a huge mistake coming here today and as I am apologizing to the doctor for taking up his valuable time (huge effort expended vocalizing that lie by the way), he interrupts me. “Julie, you know this body is not yours” he proclaims loudly as he stands, hands on hips, legs spread defiantly. “What the #**k? I don’t have to sit here and listen to these ravings.” Well, ultimately I do, because nothing works yet, no feet, no legs and definitely no arms or I’d clock him up the side of his head - no hollow apology to follow. “Julianna, now is the time to assert yourself.” He looks remarkably like a tent gospel healer ,raising his arms over his head while making this proclamation. I wonder stupidly if my smiling might help him out. He seems pretty upset. “If you don’t at least try, you’ll remain a prisoner of this pseudo-personality for the rest of your life.” I’m having trouble figuring out who the heck he’s talking to, or about, since my focus is still slipping. I don’t like being called Julianna. My name is Julie. Why’s he not calling me Julie? “Your husband showered you with his love and trusted you to recover. You’ve let him down.” The doc is sitting on the side of his desk now accenting his points by pounding on the dark wood. I’m furious. “Stop it. Stop talking to me! We’re happy the way we….” What? What did I say? We? We who? “No, I misspoke, I meant I. I’m happy the way I am.” But still he continues. “Under hypnosis, I met the real Julianna. I know you want to be free. You told me that when Tom died, it felt safer to let Julie take over, and I understand that impulse.” His voice feels cool, like a summers rain, soothing, but dangerous, as if concealing a shaft of lightening, waiting to strike. I just know this train isn’t stopping any time soon. The doctor adjusts his tie, tugs on the gold tip of his belt, confident, and gaining momentum. “Julianna, you didn’t just hide, you disappeared and when you wanted to come back, it was too late. Julie was too strong. She has no interest in your life and does whatever amuses her day to day. “ “One day you managed to push through enough to make your hands clap. Thirteen times. One for each year you and Tom were married. But no one paid attention and focused on the other signs Julie was exhibiting. They couldn’t know clapping was just the tip of the iceberg. You got a little stronger when Julie’s boss forced her to see a doctor and you were able to move your eyelids as well.” He slides down to a squat in front of me and I see him touch my knee, but I don’t feel it. Funny. “You’d have won this battle eventually Julianna, but it might have taken years. Now, with hypnotherapy, I’ve seen you and I won’t let that happen. The time is now, Julianna, now, please.” I’m using all accessible effort to keep my sluggish attention on the shrink because I deem him to be the immediate threat. Wrong! All this time, covertly, I’m being pressed gently, but steadily out of the light and into a dim corridor of interminable length. My heart rate quickens but then I realize, it doesn’t feel that bad, being in the cool dark, and for a second or 2, I’m seduced into relaxing the emotional control I’ve maintained for two years. With my eyes closed, I see a crack has appeared in my wall. I know I need to shore it up but a friendly soft breeze floats across my cerebellum and feels amazing. I succumb and allow myself to be beguiled and soothed. When the sensation ends, a deep sigh escapes my lips and I try to raise myself to my former level of attention. It’s not there! I try again, squinting my face with effort, but I can make nothing work. Within that brief respite, I allowed myself to be conveyed. Now you’d think I would have an answer to “Conveyed where?” but I don’t. I’ve no sense of what or where I am, except for the certainty that I’m in a confinement. Am I doing this? I whisper to myself. I attempt to sense the edges of my inky cubby; it feels the size of a postage stamp. A tiny stamp hidden away in the corner of some museum, never to be found. Sounds are all dampened and dull, as if the energy has been sucked out of them. Adrenaline floods my system in fear of my invisible shackles; it pumps and beats looking for a way to escape my body. I can scarcely make out the form of the psychiatrist now. He appears to still be talking. No surprise there, I reassure myself as I impotently battle to maintain control. With no limbs available to me, my battleground is the grey matter nestled in my skull. With sticky toes, I climb one wiggly hill after the other, moving forward to the front, where I used to live. Each footfall squishes deeper, preventing me from gaining ground. I rest, trying to sense the doctor. I find him, an indistinct presence, very close. But now, I discern he’s got a smile on his face, and he’s holding someone’s hand, saying “Welcome back Julianna.” My vision goes black, I want to reach up to see if my eyes have been gouged out, but my hands are stuck in the viscous guck separating the lobes. The effort is too much. It’s all too much and as I allow my cheek to finally rest on the neural tissue and dendrites that surround me, I hardly notice as I disappear.

#writingcommunity #writing #writerslift #my writing

1 note · View note

melinoe-writes · 5 years

Text

sincerely yours — chapter nine

Summary: Eisley Tusie was no stranger to Saturday detentions, but there was just something about that one Saturday that changed her.

Word Count: 1.6K

Warnings: mature themes, foul language

THE SIX FOUND THEMSELVES SITTING IN A CIRCLE SOON ENOUGH. Eisley was nestled between Bender's legs, still somewhat asleep and leaning against him. Her head rested on his chest as she was too tired to raise it. He was perfectly fine with that. He'd already wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on the top of her head. Claire glanced at them every so often, almost in envy. She wished she could have something like that.

"What would I do for a million bucks?" Andrew repeated, and thought for a moment, "Well, I guess I'd do as little as I had to."

"That's boring," Eisley moaned despairingly, lifting her head from Bender's chest just a little. Bender placed his hand on her forehead to push her back into his chest in protest, making her chuckle.

"Well, how am I supposed to answer?"

"The idea," Claire said, "is to, like, search your mind for the absolute limit. Like, um, would you drive to school naked?"

Andrew laughed, "Um, uh, would I have to get out of the car?"

"Of course," Claire replied, smiling.

"In the spring, spring or winter?"

Eisley snickered, "Winter. See how long your balls last." At the end, she giggled quietly when John's arms tightened ever so slightly around her and he moved his face into the crook of her neck and blew soft raspberries onto her skin.

"It doesn't matter," Claire paused, "spring."

Still considering, Andrew asked, "In front of the school of in the back of the school?"

"Either one."

He pondered for another second before answering with a smile, "Yes."

"I'd do that!" Allison piped in, gathering the attention of everyone in the room. "I'll do anything sexual. I don't need a million dollars to do it, either."

"You're lying," Claire scowled.

"I already have," Allison said. Eisley looked at her in the eyes. It was hard to tell, but she suspected that she was lying. "I've done just about everything there is except a few things that are illegal. I'm a nymphomaniac."

The red haired girl rolled her eyes dramatically, "Lie."

Looking semi scandalized, Brian asked, "Are your parents aware of this?"

"The only person I told was my shrink," the girl answered.

"And what'd he do when you told him?" Andrew questioned.

"He nailed me."

Eisley had to stop herself from grinning and instead nestled herself deeper in John's arms. The boy that held her was being uncharacteristically silent as the conversation went on. He hadn't stopped bothering their classmates all day, why was he all of a sudden so quiet?

Claire scoffed at Allison, "Very nice."

"I don't think that from a legal standpoint what he did can be construed as rape since I paid him," Allison continued.

"He's an adult!" Claire exclaimed in disgust.

Allison's smile got wider, "He's married, too."

"Do you have any idea how completely gross that is?" Claire gagged.

"Well, the first few times-"

"First few times?" Claire asked, astonished, "You mean he did it more than once?"

"Sure."

"Are you crazy?"

Brian said, "Obviously she's crazy if she's screwing her shrink."

"Have you ever done it?" Allison asked Claire.

Indignantly, she answered, "I don't even have a psychiatrist."

"Have you ever done it with a normal person?"

Claire looked at Bender, making him lift his face from Eisley's skin. "Now, didn't we already cover this?" she asked.

"You never answered the question," he said.

"She isn't required to answer the question," Eisley added, and Claire shot her a thankful look. "Her business is her business, and we haven't got any right to it."

"Its kind of a double-edged sword, isn't it?" Allison said, and Eisley nodded.

Claire was confused, "A what?"

"Well, if you say you haven't, you're a prude. If you say you have, you're a slut. It's a trap," Allison explained, and Eisley could only nod in agreement. "You want to but you can't but when you do you wish you didn't, right?"

"Wrong," Claire snapped.

Allison's smile came back, "Or, are you a tease?"

"She's a tease," Andrew remarked.

"Oh, why don't you just forget it," Claire huffed angrily.

Andrew ignored her, "You're a tease and you know it. All girls are teases."

"She's only a tease if what she does get's you hot," John added helpfully, and Eisley elbowed him lightly.

"I don't do anything!" Claire exclaimed defensively.

Allison said, "That's why you're a tease."

"Okay, let me ask you a few questions."

All of a sudden slightly defensive, Allison said, "I already told you everything!"

"No!" Claire said, "Doesn't it bother you to sleep around without being in love? I mean, don't you want respect?"

"I don't screw to get respect," Allison explained, "That's the difference between you and me."

Claire looked exhausted, "It's not the only difference, I hope."

"Face it, you're a tease," John said playfully.

"I'm not a tease!"

"Sure you are," Bender argued, "You said ti yourself, sex is a weapon, you use it to get respect."

"No!" Claire cried indignantly, "I never said that! She twisted my words around."

"Oh, then what do you use it for?"

"I don't use it, period!"

John's face scrunched up, "Oh, are you medically frigid, or is it psychological?"

"I didn't mean it that way!" she said loudly, and Eisley could see that she was near tears.

"Well, if you'd just answer the question..." John trailed off.

Brian, jumping in, asked, "Why don't you just answer the question?"

"Be honest," Andrew added.

"No big deal."

"Yeah, answer it!"

"Answer the question, Claire!"

"Talk to us."

"Come on, answer the question!"

"It's easy, it's only one question."

"Christ, leave the poor girl alone!" Eisley said loudly, taking the attention off of Claire. "She doesn't owe anybody insight on her personal life. It isn't any of our business."

Andrew suddenly leaned forward, "Alright, Tusie. What about you? Have you ever done it?"

"Yes," she answered without hesitation, "and I'm not ashamed. Sex shouldn't be so taboo, but it also shouldn't be a conversation forced upon people."

Claire's eyes softened only when she met Eisley's gaze. "Thank you," she said. Eisley only nodded at her.

It was quiet for a few moments, before Allison admitted, "I never did it. I'm not a nymphomaniac, I'm a compulsive liar."

"You are such a bitch," Claire seethed. "You did that just to fuck me over."

"I would do it, though," she said. "If you love someone, it's okay."

"I can't believe you," Claire raged, "You're so weird. You don't say anything all day and then when you open your mouth, you unload all these tremendous lies all over me!"

Andrew scoffed, "You're just pissed off because she tried to get you to admit something you didn't want to."

"Okay," Claire said, "fine. But that doesn't make it any less bizarre."

"What's bizarre?" Andrew asked. "I mean, we're all pretty bizarre. Some of us are just better at hiding it, that's all."

Eisley chuckled, "How are you bizarre, Sporto?"

"He can't think for himself," Allison stated before Andrew could even open his mouth. Eisley couldn't argue with her. She knew that she was right.

"She's right," Andrew admitted. "Do you guys know what, uh, what I did to get in here? I taped Larry Letser's buns together."

Claire laughed, but Brian's face was mostly vacant, with a hint of anger. "That was you?" he asked.

"Yeah," Andrew replied, "You know him?"

"Yeah, I know him."

"Well, you know how hairy he is, right?" Andrew continued, and Eisley winced. "Well, when they pulled the tape off, most of his hair came off and some... some skin, too."

Eisley closed her eyes and leaned her head back against Bender's chest again, "Oh my God."

"And the bizarre thing is," Andrew said, "is that I did it for my old man. I tortured this poor kid, because I wanted him to think that I was cool. He's always going off about, you know, when he was in school, all the wild things he used to do. And I got the feeling that he was disappointed that I never cut loose on anyone, right? So I'm... I'm sitting in the locker room, and I'm taping up my knee, and Larry's undressing a couple lockers down from me. Yeah, he's kind of... he's kind of skinny, weak, and I started thinking about my father and his attitude about weakness.And the next thing I knew, I, uh, I jump on top of him and started wailing on him. And my friends, they just laughed and cheered me on. And afterwards, when I was sitting in Vernon's office, all I could think about was Larry's father, and Larry having to go home... and explain what happened to him. And the humiliation... fucking humiliation he must've felt. I mean, how do you apologize for something like that? There's no way... it's all because of me and my old man." Eisley watched him sympathetically as he cried. "Oh God, I fucking hate him! He's like this... he's like this mindless machine that I can't even relate to anymore. 'Andrew, you've got to be number one! I won't tolerate any losers in this family. Your intensity is for shit! Win! Win! Win!' You son of a bitch. You know, sometimes I wish my knee would give and I wouldn't be able to wrestle anymore, and he could forget all about me..."

There was a beat of silence. Nobody really knew how to respond to make Andrew feel better. Finally, Bender said, "I think your old man and my old man should get together and go bowling."

Andrew laughed a short laugh, and Eisley smiled at him. "I'll beat him up for you," she offered lightly, and a small smile found its way on the boy's face.

#allison reynolds #andrew clark #brian johnson #claire standish #john bender #john bender fanfiction #john bender x oc #the breakfast club #judd nelson

13 notes · View notes

mymarvelbunch · 5 years

Text

Be Your Own Hero - Steve Rogers x Reader (part 5)

Masterlist

Summary: Y/N has lost all her family and most friends in The Decimation (I refuse to call it The Blip). Refusing to believe their deaths are permanent, she dedicate years to find a way to reverse it. When she finally finds something that might help, she searches for the Avengers. It’s Steve Rogers x Reader, but there is also a lot of Badass!Reader. Also, Non-American!Reader. If you are American, think of a country you’d have loved to be born into :D

Warnings: none!

Note: Y/Co = your country. Y/Ci = your city; Y/N/L = your native language.

It’s training month! Enjoy!

Previously: “You heard her”, Rogers said at your side as you got in the building. “Training time. But first, let’s get you in shape. You do look a little sick.”

Part Five

You barely did any exercise on the first week, except for morning runs with Steve - now you felt more comfortable in calling by his first name, especially after he switched from ‘Y/L/N’ to ‘Y/N’. You didn’t really know how you got into first-name basis with someone in this country, so you just followed his switch.

Anyway, Steve took you to eat in many different places, though most of them were of the ‘healthy food’ type. More than once they’d be called a couple; at first you tried to deny it, but eventually you both gave up. “It does look like a date”, Steve said nonchalantly, but you got flustered just the same.

It was surreal to think of you having a date with Captain America of all people. Actually, you barely remembered how it was to date someone, as immersed as you were in your grief and your goal.

Now the work was on Stark’s hands (and whoever helped him). You could take a whole month to relax and focus on different tasks.

You and Steve talked a lot over food. He already knew some things about you, thanks to Natasha’s questioning on your first day there, but he kept asking more stuff. In turn, you began to ask about his personal life as well.

You talked about your relationship with your family, and he told you about his mother and how his father inspired him to become a soldier.

You mentioned some friends, and he told you about Bucky and his family.

You talked about med school, he mentioned his pre-war art classes. He even drew a portrait of you one day, at your own request, after sending him a selfie. He also told you about the weekly group therapy sessions he led, which you began to attend as well.

You mentioned all the things you used to love doing before the Decimation: dancing, muay thai, volleyball, gym, singing, playing violin... how you always tried to balance the mess that was college with these things, until you lost everyone and focused on your self-assigned mission.

He talked about the Howling Commandos, about Howard Stark and Peggy Carter. You could see it in his eyes; he missed the past and grieved the life the war took from him.

“Sorry if it’s too personal”, you asked over dinner at the end of the first week. So far they shared nothing truly personal, only life facts. “But do you wonder how would your life would have been if you had managed to go back to US? If you had crashed that plane?”

He stayed silent for a long time. You were about to apologize when he finally said, “Sometimes. There are a lot of possibilities to entertain myself with. I try not to, though. It’s useless.”

His voice left unclear whether he succeeded or not. Then he changed the subject to your future plans, and you accepted the topic was over and should be touched on again.

“After reuniting with my family and friends, I’d love to become a psychiatrist”, you replied. “I’ve always loved to take care of people’s mental health. It’s when I feel the most useful, and most fulfilled.” Your turned to him. “What about you? Are you going to give yourself a rest?”

“Does Captain America ever rest?”, he asked back and glanced away. “I took my 66-year-nap already.”

You didn’t reply to that.

Only after you were ‘properly fed’ that training started. Most of it was on weapons, though, instead of hand-to-hand combat. “We’ll focus on that later”, he explained when you asked. “Personally, I think your best chance will be with weapons.”

He first taught you to how to fire a gun and how to aim. For that, he’d keep touching your arms, hands and shoulders, and speak really close to you. You had to hold your breath if you wanted to stay minimally focused on the tasks at hand.

How long had it been since you last had such close contact with someone? Granted, Steve was being strictly professional, but your interactions made you realize how affection and touch-starved you became. You’ve spent for too long in isolation, and now your body was trying to catch up.

Still, you managed to shoot right at the end of your second day. He complimented you, and you felt your cheeks red as you thanked him.

Next was knives. Way more interesting, in your opinion. He didn’t really teach to stab at first, but to throw them at distance. “Given your lack of training”, he said, “I’d recommend you to stay as far away as possible from any possible enemy.”

Steve touching you has soon become a routine, thanks to all corrections he made on your technique. Day by day, you got used to it, but it still made your heart race.

Your post-training hang-outs didn’t help at all. You’d usually stay at the headquarters, watching a movie or two. On your third training day, Natasha gave you the task of “helping Steve catch up with the last 70 years”.

“Oh, come on”, he said. “I’ve watched all Star Wars and Harry Potter movies!”

“You know what”, you replied, “we should watch time-travel movies. Have you seen the Back to the Future trilogy?”

He hadn’t, so that’s what you did that evening, with Natasha. You three shared a huge bowl of popcorn, and it still wasn’t enough to last for half of the first movie - thanks to Steve’s super metabolism. “Do you have a black hole for a stomach, or something?”, you asked after he emptied the second refill.

He actually laughed at that. “I might”, he replied teasingly. You were sure your cheeks were slightly red, but you turned your attention to the movie.

Natasha wouldn’t always join you two, though. She often had calls to make, and time zones meant she sometimes had to do said call at odds hours. You also suspected she was leaving you and Steve alone on purpose, but decided to stay quiet on the subject. It didn’t make much sense in your head, to be honest; why would she try to set Steve, a long-time friend, to a near stranger (you)?

On your second day of knife-throwing, you asked him, genuinely curious, “Was this a skill you had to learn on your war times?”

“Actually, I learned this after I was defrosted”, he replied. “Back in the war, I only got gun training. They said ‘HYDRA won’t attack you with a knife’...”, he trailed off after that, with a distant and sad look.

You waited for him to resume his story, but when it didn’t happen, you asked, in a low voice, “Are you okay?”

He blinked, seemingly coming back to reality. “Oh, it’s just... Bucky attacked me with a knife when I met him as Winter Soldier.”

He spoke of the memory with odd fondness, but you didn’t ask further questions. “Guess your superiors were wrong, huh”, you said instead.

He nodded, a ghost of a grin in his lips. “Yeah, they were. Anyway, back to training. Here, you have to position your arm like this...”

And he was back to touching your arm, making you way too flustered for your liking. But you did everything right afterwards, so he most likely didn’t notice anything, much to your relief.

The last thing you wanted was for Steve to find out about your crush on him.

“We can take a break, you know?”

He raised his eyes to look at yours. “Why do you think we need one? Are you tired?” He sighed. Before you could reply, he kept on talking: “I should have realized you’d be. You’re not a super soldier, you wouldn’t pick up on my spe-”

“It’s not that”, you interrupted. He frowned. “I’m following you just fine, despite our... speed differences, or whatever you want to call it. I’m talking about... you, actually.”

His frown deepened. “What about me?”

You bit your lip. “You seem... down. Ever since breakfast. Like... like you woke up with less energy than usual.”

Silence followed your statement. You were about to dismiss your own words when he spoke up. “It’s my mother’s death anniversary.”

You felt your own face soften at that. “Oh, Steve”, you approached him and placed both hands on his shoulders. “We really should take a day off then.”

He closed his eyes and seemingly leaned into your touch, though it could have been an illusion on your part. “I... would mind hugging me?”

Your eyes widened, but you wouldn’t deny such a request. You hugged him as tightly as his physique let you, and he circled his strong arms around you. You heard sniffing. “It’s okay”, you whispered.

“It’s been over eighty years”, you heard him say. “It shouldn’t hurt this much anymore.”

“It will always hurt”, you replied, voice as soft as you could manage. “And Steve, you missed nearly 70 of those years. It hasn’t been that long for you, and no one is allowed to judge you for mourning your mother.”

He sobbed a for couple minutes and then broke apart from hug, a tear still visible. You were tempted to take that tear away with your thumb, but managed to stop yourself.

“Is there anything you’d like to do today?”, you asked. “I’ll stay with you. This is no time to be alone.”

He gave you a weak. “Thank you. It means a lot.” He took a breath. “I haven’t visited her grave since the Decimation. It only reminded me that Bucky, Sam and the others didn’t have a grave of their own. But now that there is hope they won’t need it...”, he trailed off again.

“Oh well. let’s go then.”

You looked for Natasha before heading to the cemetery, but then you remembered she had gone abroad to get Hawkeye.

The ride to the cemetery was quiet, and so was the path to Sarah Rogers’ grave - which, as you found out, was next to her husband’s. Steve knelt in front of both of them and you stepped aside, distancing yourself from the scene enough to give him privacy, but still close enough that you could quickly go to him in case he needed.

He stayed there for almost an hour, but looked at peace when stood up and called you to leave. You smiled at him, and you two went back to the Headquarters.

“You know what would cheer you up?”, you said after you changed clothes. “YouTube. I know just the thing, if you want to.”

His eyebrows arched. “I’m a bit afraid of what you’ll show me, but... let’s give it a try.” You beamed at him and asked for a tablet, which he promptly gave to you.

Two hours later, there were tears in his eyes, but of laughing too much. “Wait, there’s more!”, you said, laughing along.

“More? What happened in 2019 for people to make these crazy Freddie Mercury videos?”

You shrugged. “No idea, but I always laugh like an idiot when I see them. Thank you, YouTube recommendations.”

“Your recommendations page includes the entire Bee Movie voiced with 80s pop songs.”

“Exactly! We should try that one later.”

“Y/N no.”

“Y/N yes!”

“You’re insane.”

“That’s part of my charm.” You looked up and saw a fond expression in his face as he nodded.

“You have a point”, he said. Your face burned.

He eventually taught to you stab. Where to go for a kill, and where to go if you just wanted to incapacitate. You still trained your aim, of course, and he showed you a few fighting moves - mostly self-defense, since you were more likely to need to block attacks than doing them.

“If you ever get attacked, do everything in your power to stay away. Only then, if needed, you attack”, he explained. “I know you are not a complete beginner, but you still have to think of every move you do when you attack. We can’t have that, and you should avoid relying on instinct.” A pause. “God, I hope we won’t ever need to see if these lessons will pay off.”

You nodded. “I hope so, too.”

Then you heard Natasha come in. “Guys”, she said. “We have a problem.”

Carol Danvers (the one named Captain Marvel), appeared immediately after. “Thor wants to send his right-hand Valkyrie. Said he isn’t needed.”

“What?”, you exclaimed at the same Steve said, “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

Natasha shook her head. “Carol and I wen to see him in New Asgard. We wanted Bruce and Rocket to go at first, because he’s closer to them, but apparently they were in the final stages of development of the time machine... Anyway, he hasn’t been doing well there last three years at all. Valkyrie said he spends the whole day in his cabin, drinking and gaming. I saw him. He’s like, twice his weight, and not on muscles.”

You took a step closer to the two. If things with Thor were going like it seemed to, maybe you could help. “He’s having a drinking problem and refuses to fight”, you summarized.

Natasha nodded. “You didn’t see him right after the Snap, Y/N. He barely talked, barely ate, barely lived. This is the first time I see him smiling, and it’s not even real.”

You nodded slowly. “Alcoholism, depression, possible PTSD”, you mumbled, but they all heard you anyway, and stared at you. “What? I’m a doctor.”

“Do you think you could help him?”, Steve asked.

“I can try. Can’t guarantee anything, though.”

“You should go, then”, Natasha said. “I can’t leave again; Clint needs me around.” Apparently, Hawkeye had gone mad with grief and busted on a killing spree, murdering criminal around the world. So far he had calmed down, thanks to Natasha, but he was still deemed unsafe to be near others. “You don’t have to go by yourself, though.”

“I’ll go”, Steve offered. “If Y/N wants to, that is.” You turned your head to face him.

“Of course I want to! You don’t think I’d willingly go there alone, do you? I don’t know Thor!”

“Hey, there’s me”, Danvers protested weakly.

Three hours later, you, Steve and Danvers were on your way to New Asgard.

Valkyrie, who looked every bit like a mythological legend, led you to Thor’s cabin. “Be careful”, she whispered.

“I’m bringing a super-human with me”, you replied, patting Steve’s shoulder. “I’ll be fine.”

She didn’t believe you, but knocked on the door anyway. Thor opened a whole minute later.

You took a moment to look at him as he excitedly greeted Steve. He was shirtless, and it was clear Natasha wasn’t kidding when she said he was twice his weight; that much was clear, even if you had only seen him through pictures. His beard and hair were longer than you had ever seen, and he looked like he hadn’t taken a bath in days.

“And who are you, lady?”, he asked, turning to you.

“Y/N Y/L/N, Your Majesty”, you replied politely.

He laughed loudly at that. “‘Your Majesty’? Ha, that’s funny! That’s how you introduce me to newcomers, Val? M’lady, I don’t even run my own life, let alone this entire… village. No, no, I’m no king. Val’s in charge. Of everything.” He tried to sound cheerful, but failed miserably.

“Y/N is a friend, Thor”, Steve said, seemingly ignoring the Asgardian’s rant. “Mind if we go inside?”

Stumbling, he moved to let you two in. You took in your surroundings. The living room had a TV with videogame equipment, a fireplace, dozens of beer cans (half of them obviously empty), a very used couch, and a corridor that led to a kitchen you didn’t dare enter.

“Welcome, welcome”, he said loudly and… well, a little drunkenly. “What do I owe you the pleasure? I hope it’s not to try to make me fight, like Nat and Danvers wanted. Because I’m over it. I’m a peaceful man now.”

“Oh, really?”, you asked, looking at the TV screen. “That Fortnite game over begs to differ.”

He let out an embarrassed laugh. "Oh, that thing over there? It's nothing, just something I do when I have friends over."

"Oh, okay." You didn't believe that for a second. Although Danvers did mention some 'weird-looking' friends when she and Natasha came, he was alone this time. "Anyway, I came here to meet you, Thor. I've met all of the Avengers, but I was looking forward to fight with you. I've been a huge fan of yours-"

He raised his hand, frowning deep. "Fight with me? Are you going into battle, Lady Y/N? Because with all due respect, you are in no shape to fight. You are far too skinny for a warrior." He turned to Steve, who was standing by the corridor. "Is this true?"

He nodded. "Y/N is the one who gave us a reason to fight. It's in her right to join us." You knew Steve was as worried as Thor, but you were grateful that he hid it. "It's about having a right to fight", Thor snapped, "It's about risking a life! Why are you allowing such a risk?"

"We need numbers", you replied. "That's why Natasha and Danvers came here. We need as many as we can get. But I see it now. You are the one in no condition to fight, and I'm sorry for bringing it up.”

“I’m in perfect shape!”, he snapped. “My current looks may fool you, but I’m still stronger than any Midgardian!”

“Oh, Thor, I wasn’t talking about shape.” You sat down, and gestured for him to follow you. When he say by your side, you continued, “I can see it in your eyes. You’ve lost a lot, haven’t you? Your mom, your dad, your brother, your friends, most of your people... You haven’t moved on, have you? Not from the, not from Thanos... from anything at all.”

His face contorted in anger. “How can you possibly know that”, he said, “how can you possibly understand what I’ve been through? You’ve never suffered like I have!”

From the corner of your eye, you saw Steve taking a step to your direction, but you raised you hand to stop him, while placing the other on Thor’s shoulder. “When someone goes through as many traumas as you did... it leaves a mark. We all have our scars; but not all of them are visible to the eye. And there is no shame in having them. It makes you a great fighter.” A pause. “I lost my whole family too. In the Decimation.” At that, Thor looked up. “But I hope to bring them back. And I’m sorry I can’t offer you the same hope, but... that’s why I’m fighting, even though I lack expertise.”

A long silence followed your words. Suddenly Thor stood up and walked up to the TV corner, grabbing a huge axe you hadn’t noticed until that moment. He then walked to kitchen, and you saw him moving to get a bottle of drink. Steve stopped him, though. “Not on my watch”, he said. “We need you sober for this, buddy.”

“Oh, c’mon”, Thor snapped again. “You want to take me away from my only joy?”

“Yes, we do”, you said. “Because we want you to have joy from other things too. It’s time for you to move on, Thor. It’s what your family would have wanted.”

Valkyrie and Thor stayed on the back of the ship. You overheard her giving him tips on how to deal with the first alcohol-free days. You then glanced at Steve, who smiled at you.

“You did a great job, Y/N”, he said. “For a moment I thought everything was lost.”

“I thought so too”, you admitted. “And this is just the first step. He needs professional help if he wants to take the rest of the journey.”

“Then let’s make sure he sticks around long enough for us to help us find it.”

You nodded and rested on your seat. Then you noticed something on his left pocket. “Is that a rosary?”

He followed your gaze and nodded. “I always carry one with me.”

“Do you want to pray?”, you asked. “I’m Catholic too.”

He smiled, and led your prayers.

A few hours later, you landed in front of the headquarters. Natasha waited for you, along with Clint Barton and James Rhodes (aka War Machine).

“We have great news waiting for you inside”, Rhodes began, but interrupted himself upon seeing Thor. “You alright, man?”

“Nope”, he replied. “But give me a few training days and some meat, and I’ll be good as new.”

Well, at least he didn’t ask for a drink.

“Okay, then”, Rhodes shrugged. “As I was saying... Tony and his new team managed to build that time machine.”

“Rocket has already tested it”, Natasha added. “It’s safe.”

You and Steve exchanged glances and smiled wide. From your side, you heard Danvers say, “Let’s get it started, then.”

------------------

If you are going through hard times, do not hesitate to seek professional and trained help. Check local resources and ask for recommendations. Bottling up never did anyone any good. I’m free to listen, if you want.

As I said last chapter, part 6 will feature major changes in canon. Stay tuned!

Taglist (open!): @autobotgirl15-blog @starstrucknature @cheeseburgersstuff @aamzter2013

#Steve Rogers #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #captain america x reader #captain america #captain america x you #captain america x y/n #marvel imagine #marvel #avengers: endgame

31 notes · View notes

advancedselfdevelopment-blog · 4 years

Text

Well-Being - What Causes It?

Most of us want a sense of well-being. But this term 'well-being' seems hard to pin down. What exactly is it? And how does it come about?

Clearly it is to do with an absence of bodily discomfort and emotional distress. Perhaps it comes from finding pleasure in one's activities and possessions. Is it also about feeling good about oneself, contented with one's lot, satisfied with what has been achieved?

It is inconceivable that anyone could have a sense of well-being if they lack energy to do things, seeing life as boring, pointless and empty of meaning.

Well-being and meaning Well-being is a central concept in positive psychology. Most noteworthy, those doing research in this area agree that central to this state of mind is being engaged in a meaningful way with life.

Having something important that we value provides us with a sense of purpose. It could be to do with seeking prestige, power, or money. Or it could be about creativity, attaining knowledge, or contributing to a social cause. Consequently, we want to associate with others who share what we find meaningful.

Bridget Grenville-Cleave of the University of East London reported on a study of hospital cleaners. Some thought their job was mundane and boring. They just did what they had to do according to the job description and minimised their interactions with patients. They didn't enjoy their work and felt it was pretty meaningless. Others, however, saw their work differently. They took on additional tasks and had more frequent interaction with patients. They enjoyed their job and felt it contributed to patient comfort and hygiene and the smooth running of the hospital.

Well-being and higher meaning Sensing meaning in something is how we think about it. Hence, what we understand and how we interpret it. Perhaps you see employment as just a way of earning money. Or you may think of it as a part of a career and are looking towards promotion for status, self-esteem and higher pay. On the other hand, you may be like those cleaners who found meaning in the social context of what they were supposed to do.

Some people don't primarily go to work for money or advancement (although external rewards are not without some importance for them). Instead, they are mainly concerned to contribute to making the world a better place even if this is just in a tiny way. So, we might say work for them is more of a 'calling'. What is done is loved. They would experience less well-being if they couldn't do the job anymore.

Spiritual angle on meaning From a spiritual angle, I would say that finding meaning in life seems to be about learning that there is something greater than oneself. In other words when any activity has no intrinsic goodness or rightness then sooner or later it will fail the individual.

"Examples abound in which those in pursuit of meaning through social position, prestige, material acquisitions, or power are suddenly are forced to question the value of these goals as life pursuits." (Irving Yallom, existential psychiatrist)

The excitement, pride, and pleasure they derive from them is short-term happiness. Consequently, it doesn't endure.

In studies of spirituality, a higher level of purpose in life is associated with positive psychological adjustment and well-being including positive emotions, life satisfaction, good self-image, and better health.

A search for meaning may lead to increased anxiety at least in the short term. However, I would suggest that inner well-being slowly increases. Research in the psychology of religion and spirituality finds that acknowledging transcendence beyond oneself through prayer places the whole of life into a wider context. A sense of religious meaning can foster acceptance of suffering alongside benign perception of the future.

Well-being and three-sided harmony So why might we have a sense of well-being just because we pursue a meaningful goal that is important? Why should committing our time to what we value make us any happier? The answer I think is to do with a three-sided harmony that is central to the human soul.

"The principal powers of the soul are three - to live, to feel and to reason" (Dante, The Banquet, iii, 2)

How we live is what we do - our actions. How we reason about things is our sense of what they mean.

This is a harmony between what the heart feels, what the head thinks and what the hands do. In other words, love of what is good, understanding of what form it might take, and activity towards usefully bringing it about. Our desire for, understanding of and engagement in good parenting; crime reduction; environmental protection; community welfare; employment opportunity; political stability etc.

However, if there is incongruity between heart, head and hands, I would say there can be no deeper satisfaction. Psychologist Leon Festinger observed in some people an absence of well-being due to what he called cognitive dissonance. He found this when there is dissonance or disharmony between what we think, how we feel and what we do e.g. incongruity between striving of the heart, know-how in the head and achievement of the hands.

This lack of harmony occurs for example if whilst wanting one's child to be well educated, one lacks knowledge about how this might be achieved, and so going about it the wrong way. Or when wanting one's neighbourhood to be tidy, and knowing we have the time to help clear up litter, yet, doing nothing about it.

Conclusion about well-being If we want a sense of inner well-being, I suggest we examine to what extent our desires are good, our thoughts are meaningful and our actions effective and whether these three are in harmony. There could be harmony between having self-centred feelings, egoistic thoughts and greedy behaviour. However, I reckon negativity such as this cannot result in any deeper form of well-being that lasts. It lacks inspiration from our spiritual Source.

"Divine love, Divine wisdom, and Divine application to useful purpose. These three emanate as one from the Lord, and they flow as one from Him into people's souls" (Emanuel Swedenborg, spiritual philosopher)

As a clinical psychologist, Stephen Russell-Lacy has specialised in cognitive-behavioural psychotherapy, working for many years with adults suffering distress and disturbance.

He edits Spiritual Questions a free eZine that explores links between spiritual philosophy and the comments and questions of spiritual seekers. You can share your views and find out more about making sense of life.

His eBook Heart, Head and Hands draws links between the psycho-spiritual teachings of the eighteenth century spiritual philosopher Emanuel Swedenborg and current ideas in therapy and psychology.

2 notes · View notes

crystalninjaphoenix · 5 years

Text

Talks and Transfers

A JSE Fanfic

I was not expecting to write the next part of this so soon, but I’ve hit a block on other stories, and also one of my friends read the last two parts a few days ago and went absolutely feral when I started being cryptic and it was weirdly motivating XD Anyway, here’s number three. We finally get to see a boy besides Schneep! Which is great, because things aren’t going so well for Schneepy boy

You can now find the other two stories under the #pwtimeline tag!

“Why am I doing this, why am I doing this, oh god why am I doing this?” Dr. Laurens kept muttering this under her breath even as she dialed the number. She listened to the phone ring with slowly building dread. Maybe she should just go to work anyway. She could power through this; maybe she shouldn’t miss the session. But she was making the call. And soon it was picked up. “Hi, Dr. Newson?” She asked.

“Oh hey Rya, what’s up?”

“H-hey. I, uh, I can’t come into work today. I’m sick.” It wasn’t a lie—for the past few days there had been a slowly building headache behind her eyes, and today she woke up with a sore throat and a raspy voice. “Can, uh, I know you talked about how you’d be willing to take the Schneep case, so can you cover my session today?” Laurens winced privately. She hated to do this; she always believed in consistency, especially with schedules.

“Oh yeah! Sure, I can do that!” Dr. Newson sounded excited, and eager to help. Which was weird, because Dr. Newson didn’t do ‘excited.’ Or if she did, she didn’t show it.

Still, Laurens breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you. I keep my notes in the turquoise notebook, it should be on my desk in my office.”

“Uh-huh. Got it.”

“And the session is at one o’clock. Room 309.”

“Rya, chill, I’ll take care of everything,” Dr. Newson assured her. “You just rest. Your voice sounds awful, if you need some more time off just tell me.”

“I usually get over things in a day,” Laurens said. “But thanks. I-I’ll let you know.”

“You do that. See you later.” And with that, Dr. Newson hung up.

Laurens sighed again, exhaling all the nerves she’d built up as she leaned backwards against the seat of her car. She felt kinda guilty for not coming in to work. Like she was abandoning Schneep in a time of need. But he’d been doing pretty good ever since the hoodie incident. Hadn’t made much progress, but at least he wasn’t trying to hurt anyone anymore. And besides, wasn’t what she was doing now also a way to help?

It was true, she was feeling kind of under the weather, but under normal circumstances, it wasn’t bad enough to stop her from going to work. But she’d used the sick excuse so she could have the day off to search.

Laurens pulled her keys out of the ignition and stepped out of the car, looking around. She’d never been in this part of the city before. In the suburbs. If she was forced to guess, she’d say that most of the houses here were taken by families. But still, from what Schneep had said about this guy during their sessions, he lived somewhere around here. Laurens groaned silently. Guess she’d have to go door-to-door. Like a Girl Scout.

Twenty minutes later, she was starting to wonder if she was maybe wrong about thinking she was well enough to spend the day walking around an unfamiliar neighborhood. Her sore throat had faded a bit, but her head was pounding, and it felt stuffed full of fluff. Just a couple more houses. Then she could maybe drive home and take a nap, and try again that evening.

Laurens walked up the path to the door of the next house. She rang the doorbell, and while she waited she looked around idly. The yard was less well-kept than the others on the block. The grass was yellower and there were no flowers in the flowerbeds. But not everyone had the ability to do yard work. That was why she lived in an apartment.

The door opened, and she snapped to attention. “Hi I’m looking for...” she trailed off when she got a closer look at the guy who answered the door. Okay, this was him. God, Schneep had said the two of them looked similar, but she wasn’t expecting such an uncanny resemblance. He’d said they weren’t related, right?

“Uh...yeah? I mean, excuse me?” The man had brown hair and blue eyes, just like Schneep, though his hair was partly hidden beneath a snap-back cap. He wore a gray shirt underneath a red jacket with some sort of logo on the lapel, and his voice had a slight American accent.

Laurens blinked, clearing her head. “Sorry, are you Chase Brody, by any chance?”

“Yeah, that’s me. What’s up?” Chase seemed to examine her. “If you’re selling something, or if you’re like, I dunno, looking for autographs, then—”

“Oh no, no no,” Laurens hurried to say. “Um, my name is Rya Laurens. Dr. Laurens. I, uh, I know your friend Sch—Henrik, and I, uh, wanted to talk to you about him.”

The change was instantaneous. Chase, who’d been previously leaning against the doorway, stood up straight, his eyes widening. “Oh, yeah, h-hang on, d’you want—please, come in.” He stood aside and let her step past him into the house.

The living room looked about what she thought it would look like. Chase had a quality entertainment system, with a widescreen TV and several video game consoles, as well as a shelf full of DVDs, most of which seemed to be kids films or Marvel movies. “You have a nice home,” she said politely.

“It’s a little messy, sorry about that,” Chase muttered, closing the door. “D’you want anything to drink? I can make tea.”

“That would be lovely.”

She followed Chase into the dining room, with adjoining kitchen separated only by a counter. While she took a seat at the dining table, Chase busied himself making the tea. She looked around, noticing a pile of dirty dishes by the sink and what looked like children’s drawings stuck to the fridge with magnets. After a few moments, during which she sat at the table in silence and failed at not feeling awkward, Chase set a mug down in front of her, sitting in the seat next to her. “Hope you like Lyons. Actually, I probably should’ve asked you before I made it.” He laughed a bit.

Laurens took a sip. “It’s good. A bit hot.”

“Oh good. Anyway. You said you knew Schneep? Do you work with him?” Chase started to take a sip of his mug of tea as well.

“Uh, no, not...I’m not that kind of doctor.” Laurens cleared her throat, which only served to make it raspier, so she coughed instead. “I work at Silver Hills—”

There was a sudden splutter as Chase seemed to spit out his tea back into the mug. “Sorry, just—” He wiped the sleeve of his jacket across his mouth. “Jesus christ, has he been there the whole time?”

“What...do you mean ‘the whole time’?” Laurens asked.

“Well, since August. When that whole...thing happened. You heard about that?”

“Oh, I know what you mean. And, uh...” Laurens shifted awkwardly in her seat. “You haven’t been watching the local news, have you?”

“No, I don’t watch news at all.” Chase looked down at the table surface and shrugged. “It...depresses me.” He looked back up. “Why?”

“A-ah...well...” God, this was awkward. Laurens kept drumming her fingers on the mug. “Henrik—Schneep—has been...implicated in several...murders.”

Chase blinked. “You’re joking.”

“No, I-I am not.” Laurens tried to smile apologetically. She wasn’t sure it was working. “You, um, should be able to look it up. It became quite a big deal.”

“Oh my fucking god...” Chase briefly covered his mouth with his hand before lowering it again. “Did...did he do it?”

“The, uh...the evidence pointed that way,” Laurens said slowly. “They had video and DNA and everything...sorry.” She didn’t know why she apologized.

“Oh my fucking god,” Chase repeated, gaping. “I—I knew Schneep had issues but I didn’t think he was—was capable of—jesus.”

“Well...” Laurens looked down into the mug of tea. “Sometimes when...you know, the human mind is complicated, especially when it lies to you.” Chase didn’t answer. Laurens wished she could say something better, somehow more reassuring, but...ironically, despite being a psychiatrist, she wasn’t the best with people. So she tried to move on to the reason she actually came. She took a deep breath, and looked up. “He misses you, you know.”

Chase’s eyes snapped toward her. “Really?”

“Yeah. He talks about you a lot. And two others, uh, Jackie and Marvin?” When she saw recognition in Chase’s eyes, she continued. “I think it would help him if you visited. And maybe those others two.”

“That’s not possible.”

Laurens’s heart turned to rock, thinking that this day had been a waste. Chase seemed to catch her expression. “Oh I mean Jackie and Marvin visiting, I’d be happy to. Just...they can’t.”

“Oh I see.” Laurens exhaled slowly. “Why?”

“Well...” Chase rubbed the back of his neck. “Marvin skipped town. He’s not answering any of my calls or texts. I think he’s mad at me but I dunno why. And Jackie...” He took a deep breath. “Jackie’s been missing for a few months now. He—he disappeared.”

“Oh, god.” Laurens’s mind went blank. What were you supposed to say to that? She didn’t know. “I-I’m so sorry.” That was the best she could do.

“It’s fine.” Chase paused, then sighed. “Well, no, it’s not, but thanks.”

“The police—you’ve told them?” She didn’t know why she had to ask it, but she felt she had to.

“Yeah, of course. But after five months, I think they’ve given up.” A new, hard light entered his eyes. “He’s still out there, though. It’s hard to knock Jackie down. He’s tough. I don’t know what happened, but I know he can handle it.”

Laurens gave him a reassuring smile. “Well, I hope it works out.”

“Thanks, doc.” Chase took a long drink of the tea, seeming to stare into the distance. “So...how’s Schneep doing? He’s alright?”

“Last I saw him, yes,” Laurens nodded. “It’s...it’s a bit of a roller coaster sometimes, but I think he’s getting better.”

“That’s good. Great.” Chase’s fingers were drumming a rhythm on the table surface. “Silver Hills has—has visiting hours, right?”

“Oh! O-of course. They’re on our website,” Laurens explained. “But the diagram can be a bit complicated, because they vary based on a couple factors. It’s safest to visit on Fridays, from three to seven.”

“Okay. Hang on a sec.” Chase reached into his pocket and took out his phone, opening it up and tapping for a bit. “That’s on my calendar now. I guess I’ll see you on Friday, then?”

“Yes, of course! I-I should get going.” Laurens pushed her chair back, standing up. “Thanks for the tea.” She said this despite not drinking most of it.

“No problem. Thanks for stopping by and, uh, filling me in on all this.” Chase nodded. “Do you want me to walk you to the door, or...?”

“I can see myself out, thanks.” Laurens smiled awkwardly. “See you on Friday. Goodbye.”

“Bye.”

Only ten minutes later, and Laurens was back in her car, contemplating whether to drive home or go to work anyway. On the one hand, she was loathe to miss anything that went on at work, and if she went now, she could barely make it in time for her session with Schneep. On the other, her headache was starting to blossom into a migraine, and her nose was stuffing up as well. She probably wouldn’t be able to concentrate like this, and a session done poorly wouldn’t do anyone any good.

After a few more moments of wrestling with this dilemma, she started her car and set off. It would probably be fine to miss one session. Dr. Newson could handle it. What’s the worse that could happen?

——————

One o’clock rolled around, and Dr. Newson strolled into Room 309. Schneep, who’d been pacing the length of the wall by the window, stopped, staring. He watched as she sat down in one of the chairs, setting Laurens’s notebook down on the table. “Hello, Henrik. Are you ready to start? Please sit down,” she said cheerfully.

Schneep stayed where he was. “Where is Dr. Laurens?”

“Oh, she called in sick today, asked me to fill in. I’m Dr. Newson. Please sit down.”

“Sick? With what?” Schneep’s eyes flicked over Dr. Newson’s shoulder. Two people came into the room behind her, closing the door behind him. “Who are they?”

“Don’t mind the orderlies, they’re here just in case.” Dr. Newson waved away his question. “Now if you would please sit down so we can start.”

“In case of what?”

“If you would please,” Dr. Newson’s voice hardened, “sit down.”

Schneep stayed where he was for a few seconds longer, before slowly walking over and sitting in the other chair. He crossed his arms, posture stiff.

Dr. Newson simply settled into the chair, folding one leg over the other. “So, I’m obviously not caught up on how far Dr. Laurens has got in these—”

“You could check in there.” Schneep nodded at the unopened notebook on the table. “She kept very detailed notes.”

Dr. Newson smiled. “Well, I know that. I’ve checked it, but given how detailed they were I wasn’t able to read it all. I’ve skimmed it, though. And that was enough to understand that she hasn’t gotten far in asking you about what really happened.”

Schneep narrowed his eyes. “What really happened when? About what?”

“Oh, you know.” Dr. Newson pulled Laurens’s notebook toward her, flipping open to a blank page. “How about we start with Christmas? Do you remember that night?”

“Do I remember that—you are not police, Doctor,” Schneep scowled. “They have already asked me about that. I do not think it is your place to do so.”

“Well, I’m just doing my job, Henrik.”

“Do not call me that.”

“Well alright, then. I’m just doing my job, Mr. Schneeplestein.” When Schneep opened his mouth to berate her for using the wrong prefix, she pushed forward anyway. “And I think it is important to my job if we discuss the events of that night. You remember, right? Those videos?”

“I had nothing to do with those videos,” Schneep insisted.

Dr. Newson laughed. “Well, you were in them, so I doubt that. Led the police on a merry overnight chase, making them keep watch for, what, twelve hours? It was quite a feat for you to pull off.”

“I did not make those.” The words came out between gritted teeth.

Dr. Newson raised an eyebrow. “Well then, who did?”

Schneep didn’t answer. He seemed to fold in on himself, and his eyes flickered to the side. “I do not want to talk about it.”

“Oh, I get it.” Dr. Newson took a pen from her pocket and jotted a few words down. “You believe someone else did. Or was it that you thought someone was forcing you to?”

Schneep jumped, but then his eyes suddenly flashed. “I said I do not want to talk about it. I do not have to say anything to you.”

“Yes, you do, that’s why you’re here.” Dr. Newson looked up from the notebook. “Now let’s get back to the question at hand. Was there any particular reason for the Christmas incident? Did you want to try something new? Oftentimes sending letters, or videos in this case, to the police speaks of arrogance or says that it’s seen as a game. Was this a way for you to have fun?”

“Will you shut up!” Schneep sprang to his feet, slamming his hands down on the table. The two orderlies in the room jumped to attention. “Shut up and stop pushing your questions to me! I am supposed to have a chance to speak here and you are not giving it!”

Dr. Newson merely smiled. “Well, you weren’t answering, Mr. Schneeplestein.”

“Because you were not listening! I told you I do not wish to speak of it! Yet you keep asking and asking and—do you know how bothersome that is?!” He folded his arms again. “Maybe I will be ready to tell you about that night one day, but this is not that day. So shut up!”

“Mm-hmm. So you were involved in that somehow?” Dr. Newson made another note, seemingly unconcerned by the death glare Schneep was giving her. She looked up at him. “You want me to stop asking? What are you going to do to make me? Are you going to try to kill me?”

Schneep suddenly burst into laughter. Loud, screeching laughing that hit him so hard, he had to double over and lean onto the table. The two orderlies, now standing behind his chair, exchanged uncomfortable glances as he wore himself out, laughter fading to giggling as he slumped into the chair. He looked up, and there were tears in his eyes. “I do not know. Maybe I will. But I do not know. And I do not like that.” His voice was tired.

Dr. Newson stared at him. “Well, that’s good to know,” she drawled. “Maybe—”

“Maybe you really should shut your stupid mouth before it gets you in trouble.” The change of tone in Schneep’s voice was so sudden that Dr. Newson had to take a moment to recognize it as his. “Maybe you should just leave now since you clearly do not want to be here.”

Her lip curled. “I don’t think I ever gave any indication that I don’t want to be here. In fact, I didn’t even need to fill in for Dr. Laurens today. And there aren’t a lot of employees here willing to get close to you, so you should be happy you’re even getting a session today at all.”

“What, people are afraid of me? I wonder why.” A smile flashed across Schneep’s face. “Is not like I did anything to deserve that. Only that thirteen are dead and more injured.”

“Oh, I thought that ‘wasn’t your fault’,” Dr. Newson said, a sudden edge to her voice. “I thought you were ‘sorry’ about that.”

“Two things can be true at once.” Schneep’s head slowly tilted to the side. “Especially when things are not in your control. Who is in control? And who is just playing pretend?”

“I don’t see how this is relevant, Mr. Schneeplestein.”

“But it is! You do not understand because you do not see. You do not see these things.” Another smile. “Perhaps your eyes are in the way. Would you like to get rid of them?”

Suddenly, Schneep lunged forward. Dr. Newson pushed her chair back, ready to flee, but the orderlies sprang into action. Before Schneep could get far, they managed to grab hold of him. It wasn’t an easy task. He kept twisting and wiggling his way out of their hold, and wasn’t afraid to lash out.

“Right, then.” Dr. Newson smoothed down the front of her shirt, trying to mask the way her heart had suddenly leapt into her throat. She picked up the notebook, tucking it under her arm. “I know the sessions usually last an hour, but I’m afraid we’re going to have to cut this short. Very short. Maybe you’ll see me tomorrow, maybe you’ll see Dr. Laurens tomorrow, who knows? Oliver, Theresa?” She nodded at the two orderlies. “I trust you came prepared?”

Maybe her question distracted them, maybe what happened next would’ve happened anyway. Schneep snarled “Let go of me!” and managed to get an arm free, shoving one of the orderlies away. Then he threw his weight against the other, who shrieked and fell—

Crack!

Time stopped. The world concentrated down into that single sickening crack, and the red that was suddenly decorating the sharp edge of the table. The orderly was still on the ground, a pool of identical red spreading from her head. It was a stain against the white floor, stark in the bright light.

Dr. Newson was the first to react, reaching for her pager. “Oliver, can we get a sedative while I page the med team?”

That sentence brought Schneep to his senses. “What? No! No, it was an a-accident, I did not mean—”

“That’s true. But two things can be true at once.” Dr. Newson’s voice was cold. “Oliver? Now, please?”

The orderly stopped staring, shocked, at his fallen coworker, and soon there was a needle buried in Schneep’s neck. Schneep gasped and stilled, though he kept muttering that it was an accident.

“You should probably take a good look around this room, Henrik, cause you won’t be seeing it for a while, if ever,” Dr. Newson said stiffly. “You’re getting a new one. On the first floor.”

Schneep’s eyes widened, before the sedative really kicked in and he closed them. Dr. Newson nodded, then looked down at the still orderly. “When the med team gets here, get them to take him to the medical wing, too. He can stay there until the new room is ready.”

“Yes, Dr. Newson.” The orderly hesitated for a moment, and then asked, “Dr. Newson, if I may...you’re sure about this?”

Newson sighed. “I should’ve done it a lot sooner, if you ask me. Rya convinced me not to, you know it’s hard to say no to her. But god.” She knelt by the orderly on the floor, picking up her wrist and pressing two fingers to it. “We can’t let it go further than this.”

——————

When Laurens arrived at work the next morning, she was immediately called into Dr. Newson’s office. Once there, she listened in shock as the entire story was told. “The new room number is 1010,” Dr. Newson said at the end. “I know the numbering makes no sense, but it’s in an older part of the building. And you’re now required to bring an orderly in with you whenever you visit. You know Oliver Hopkins? He’s volunteered.”

“Is...is Theresa going to be okay?” Laurens asked hesitantly.

“She had to be rushed to the hospital,” Dr. Newson explained. “Last I heard, she was still in critical condition.”

“Oh my god...” Laurens covered her mouth with her hand. She couldn’t help but feel that if she was here yesterday, she could’ve somehow prevented this. Guilt settled down into her stomach. “I hope she...well, I hope it’ll be alright.”

“Yeah.” Dr. Newson sighed. Her eyes drifted over to the picture frame on her desk. “While you’re here, is there anything else you want to talk to me about?”

“Um, well...” She wasn’t sure if this would sound in bad taste after this serious talk, but... “So, uh, residents on the first floor still have visiting hours on Fridays, right?” When Dr. Newson hesitated, she pressed. “You can’t take away visiting hours, those are required by the county board.”

“‘Unless there have been incidents wherein the patient has shown hostility to visitors,’ yeah, I know, I read the section,” Newson snapped. Then she took a deep breath. “Sorry about that. Just on edge. Yeah, it’s still Fridays, that’s the only day for most of the first floor patients. Why?”

“Well...yesterday, when I was home sick, I got a visitor.” Laurens was aware she was adjusting the story, but she didn’t want to sound like she’d been skipping out on her duties. “He said he was a friend of Sch—of Henrik’s, and that he just found out he was here and wanted to visit him. So I, uh, told him the hours and he said he’d stop by on Friday.”

“That’s three days away.”

“...yeah.”

Dr. Newson sighed, rubbing her temples. “Yeah, fine, that’s allowed. But you have to supervise it, okay?”

“Okay.” Laurens nodded. “I’m, uh...going to go find Room 1010 now.”

“Oliver knows the way, ask him to take you.”

Laurens did just that, finding the orderly nearby. Soon, she was following him down the corridors of the first floor. Unlike the ones above, the first floor was distinctly more...hospital-like, choosing to forego the wallpaper and carpeting of the upper floors, and replacing their lamps with fluorescent lights. There were also a lot more orderlies bustling about, all wearing that beige uniform that made them sort of blend together.

“So...you were there, yesterday?” she asked Oliver.

He nodded. “Yeah. It was...it was scary, man. Just all of a sudden there was yelling and then Theresa was on the floor.” He glanced at her. “Was...was that guy ever like that with you?”

“His name’s Schneep,” Laurens reminded him. “And...well, there were moments when he was loud, and sometimes seemed...a bit aggressive, but he never attacked me.” She bit her lip. “I wonder if Dr. Newson triggered that somehow...”

Oliver didn’t answer, merely looking back away. “Hey, we’re here. Room 1010.” They stopped outside a door that looked just like all the others. “I’m, uh, required to go in with you.”

“Yeah, Dr. Newson told me. She also gave me this.” Laurens pulled out a key card. While doors on the upper floors could open on their own, doors on the first floor were locked, though some of them could be opened from the inside but not from the outside. Laurens didn’t know if Room 1010 was one of those. She swiped the card through the reader next to the door. It beeped, and there was a click. Laurens pulled the door open and went inside, followed by Oliver.

The difference between the first floor and upper floors was even more evident here. Room 1010 was smaller, but also emptier. The only furniture was the white-blanketed bed, a circular table with rounded edges next to it, and a single, rather uncomfortable-looking chair next to that. A half-open door showed a connected bathroom beyond. As it was an internal room, there wasn’t a window, and the overhead lights were controlled with a single switch, no lamps anywhere.

Schneep was sitting on the bed, leaning against the wall and hugging the bed’s single pillow to his chest. He was wearing a simple white shirt and pants, which Laurens recognized as standard-issue clothing, since regulations on the first floor didn’t allow patients to bring any of their own. Schneep didn’t look up as Laurens crossed the room and sat in the room’s only chair. Oliver, meanwhile, hovered in the corner, seeming to sense that he had to stay out of this.

“Hi, Schneep,” Laurens said. “I’m back. Sorry I wasn’t here yesterday.”

He nodded. “Was not your fault. You were sick. I’m sorry.” That last statement sounded less like an expression of sympathy and more like an actual apology.

“It’s okay, it wasn’t your fault either,” Laurens said gently.

After a quiet moment, Schneep cleared his throat and asked, “The woman, the orderly from yesterday, is she alive?”

“Yes, she’s alive,” Laurens confirmed. Seeing how Schneep relaxed, she decided not to mention the critical condition.

He looked at her for the first time since she entered the room. And she almost physically started when she realized his eyes were rimmed with red. “It was not my fault. You know that, right? You believe that?”

“I know. I believe you.”

“You always do.” He nodded. “Or at least, you sound like you do. Even if you don’t and you only sound it, I appreciate it.”

“It’s no problem, Schneep.” And it really wasn’t. Laurens straightened. “Well, I have...news for you. I don’t know if you’ll see it as good or bad, but it’s news.” Schneep didn’t say anything, but he did sit up a bit. Laurens continued, “So, uh, yesterday, while I was sick, I met one of your friends. Chase. He said he...wanted to visit.”

A wide variety of emotions flickered across Schneep’s face. Surprise, joy, realization, worry, fear, consideration, then back to joy, though a bit tempered. “I think I would like to see him,” he said, squeezing the pillow tighter.

“I told him you would,” Laurens said. “He’s coming on Friday, three days from now.” She paused. “You think...you’ll be alright until then?”

A strangled laugh. “Is hard to predict. But I hope so. I would not want...anything to...happen.” The words were chosen haltingly, as if he was trying to find the simplest way to say it.

“Nothing’s going to happen,” Laurens said, surprising herself with the firmness of her own voice. “You’re doing good, you know. You can do it.” She wasn’t sure what ‘it’ was, but sometimes you just needed to hear it. “And I’ll be there that day, too.”

“That would be good,” Schneep agreed. For a moment, he was silent. “I...I do not feel like talking today. Would you leave, please?”

“Oh. Of course.” Laurens stood up. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

“Yes.”

Laurens left, finding her steps taking longer than usual. She glanced behind her one last time before leaving to see Schneep had buried his face in the pillow. She hesitated. Maybe she should stay...but he seemed like he wanted to be alone. In the future, she might be able to bring something so she could be alone with him. After all, there were times when that was really what was best. But she couldn’t, today.

She followed Oliver back through the first floor halls. “That was...different than I was expecting,” he admitted.

“It usually is,” Laurens agreed. “But people aren’t just one thing, you know?”

“...yeah, I think so.”

“Good.” Laurens took a deep breath, and sighed. Three days. She just had to hope things would improve in three days. And then she had to believe things would continue to improve from there.

And somehow, she did. Perhaps she was more optimistic than she’d thought she was, but she believed things would get better. They usually did.

#jacksepticeye #jacksepticeye fanfiction #jacksepticegos #septic egos #dr schneeplestein #chase brody #i was planning to have chase and schneep actually interact in this part but it got long #welp! something to motivate me to write the next part i guess!#brigid writes fanfiction #pwtimeline

20 notes · View notes

the-goddess-of-mischief-writing · 5 years

Text

Would you believe me if I told you my story {12}

Chapter summary; What did Bucky miss? Steve catches up with him and gets a reaction he didn’t thought.

Pairing: Avengers x reader (will change over time)

Rating: Mature

CHAPTER NO/ONESHOT: Chapter 12/?

Word count; 2.070

Warnings; Mentions of past mental illness, swearing perhaps

Author; @the-goddess-of-mischief-writing

SERIES MASTERLIST

”How are you doing?” Steve watched his childhood friend looking worse for wear then he’d done in some time. His eyes were dull and redder then normal and the blonde man leaning against the wall couldn’t say if it was from tears or lack of sleep. The brunette sitting on the bed could neither hold his body upright, hunching in on himself.

Almost a day had passed, now being late afternoon from when he’d seen him last time. Steve had walked over here as soon as he’d lead you to where you would stay, as well as getting your confirmation that you wouldn’t try doing something. However, he couldn’t relax, even if you seemed sincere with your promise.

Bucky’s room laid behind the first door on the opposite side of Steve’s and now also the one you occupied. When he’d walked over and knocked on his door, he didn’t get any louder answer then a muffled come in. What he saw was the otherwise honourable man sitting on the end of his bed, tending his injured arm.

”It ain’t serious, just scratches. Have dealt with worse”, Bucky’s answer came low, albeit louder than when he’d given Steve permission to enter. His eyes didn’t raise to meet Steve’s, instead, they were locked on his right arm. Angry looking red lines littered it, some scratches, others seemed to have been deep enough to draw blood. He dabbed the cloth which he’d dampened with sterilisation over the worst looking ones. He’d already done this as a few times, so he hadn’t the need to bit back the hiss he otherwise would’ve. After they captured you, he’d tended to the marks, while retreating with his memories and thoughts. His choice to wear a long-sleeved when attending to their first meeting was because of this.

”You know I didn’t mean those”, Steve said and Bucky’s arm stilled in mid-air before lowering. He let out a rattled sigh, his shoulders slumping but not because he relaxed. The man did it because everything he had worked on with himself came crashing down. It wasn’t more than a day since he’d first seen you and you’d left this big of an impact on his life. He hadn’t slept since, couldn’t because his thoughts kept him up. Although he wanted, feeling his body needed the rest he didn’t dare either. The few times he’d nodded off the nightmares haunted him right bake awake. The nightmares weren’t daily basis anymore, but since you’d come here they crept back.

”I understood that, but the one you're talking about made them”, the troubled man said as he placed the cloth beside him, clasping his hands together while continuing to look at the fast healing marks. ”So I still answered the question”, the answer made the blonde man walk further into the room, hoping that his friend wasn’t as far into this state as he sometimes could get.

”Perhaps a part of it, but not the rest”, his voice was gentle, as he stood before Bucky who looked up at him. He noticed the way his eyes shifted, not being able to hold his own and that they seemed to be lost. Then he dropped his head, shaking it.

”I… I don’t know Steve. It, this just feels wrong. Nothing fits together. Everything is just…”

”Weird, I know. Nothing seems like it isn’t in the moment”, he sighed before continuing. ”Although it looks like we’re able to get down to business with it”

”What do you mean?” Bucky’s stormy eyes searched Steve’s clear blue ones like he would be able to find the answer before he voiced them.

”She’s going to be a part of the team. Before anything further happens she’s staying in the first room”, he cocked his head showing that he meant the first room beside his but the move almost made him miss Buckys. The soldier moved fast and seemed to bounce up from the bed to take ahold off his blonde friend's shoulders.

”Say this isn’t true Steve, please! She can’t stay here, none less be a part of the team!” He shook his friend's shoulder to further acknowledge what he said. Steve tried shrugging out of his grip and when his friend didn’t let go of him he prayed his arms off of him.

”Not if you both act like this! We’re going to fix it, trust me”, he put his hand on Bucky’s shoulder and when he saw he was to protest he continued. ”We can’t choose with this one, it’s already decided”

”When?” The question made Steve sigh, knowing he needs to recite the meeting.

”We can say you missed a few things when skipping the meeting”, Steve almost felt like he wanted to laugh at the disturbing turns the meeting had taken. He began whatsoever, telling Bucky about where their hunt had led them and how they dealt with that. How they continued to search without a trace and deemed it no use to continue, heading home. They didn't have more time then it took to get off the jet, walk to the common room and quickly discuss how they should solve the problem before Fury had sent his message. Steve dared to use the word scatter, as that what they’d done to get themselves as ready for the meeting. They had just settled down in the conference room when Fury and Clint, walked in.

”He asked for you?” Steve told him and the brunette which had started pacing stopped when he was mentioned.

”Fury?” He asked, watching Steve carefully and he nodded as a response before continuing.

”He asked why you weren’t there and if you would appear at all. It wasn’t until he told us we would get a new member and she would be the one, I understood why he pushed the question”

”He was afraid”, he didn’t ask, instead just assumed. Steve shook his head and arching one of his brows Bucky looked quizzically at him.

”I don’t think he was afraid, more worried for her. Understandable as neither the meeting from there on went good”, he clenched his fist, even though he now had crossed his arms over his chest. ”Tony refused the whole thing more venomously then I’ve seen Loki do sometimes and it all ended in chaos as he walked out the door, ending the meeting before it was finished, their argument hanging in the air”

”He and Fury clashed again?” Bucky asked it wasn’t unusual for Stark and Fury to get in an argument.

”For once, not only them”, to the answer the former soldier's eyes darkened, getting remembered of why he was in this state in the beginning. ”He’s even more resistant to letting her stay then he was both about you and Loki”

”But Fury left her here whatsoever, even though Tony’s obvious objections towards the idea”

”That’s right”, Steve nodded to his answer, even if Bucky couldn’t see it.

”Then if he was so worried about her, why did he do it?” Bucky uttered it in a murmur, lifting his arms and in distress raking them through his hair.

As he was turned away from Steve, he didn’t see the look he gave him, one which you only deem as troubled.

Steve thought back to what Tony said, the words he used to describe Bucky. A maniac. He hadn’t said he was the main source he referred to, but himself and most of the others could take the hint. Bucky's state when they found him was fragile, almost as he battled a disease. He looked like he could tip to either side any moment and that was how he was the first period. In the beginning, Bucky hadn’t control over the switch and if he did it was a straining one. But they worked around it, trying to give him more confidence to take over the steering wheel and it had worked. Months later, with help from both the team and psychiatrists, as well as physicians they worked around and decimated the trigger words.

This was what made Steve think what Tony said about you were wrong. You weren’t a maniac, you controlled everything about yourself with bigger grace than some of the highly trained spies he knows worked for SHIELD. You knew how to play your cards, so most things went in your favour. You almost seemed to control the people around you.

So if something he wouldn’t call you a maniac, because you were the exact opposite. He would call you manipulative, but neither that world felt right. You didn’t manipulate. If you would’ve, together with the powers you supposedly had, you would be able to disintegrate them.

Preferably was it that you could read the situation, manoeuvre trough it with caution and the people around you manipulating themselves. Everyone thought they knew you, from only drawing their conclusions and then acting after those. Steve had seen it himself, that some in the team, as Tony pointed out, hadn’t left your presence without silently or not, speaking for you. It could be that they have gotten to know something about you which eased their worry, but he didn’t understand why you didn’t do or say it to all of them if it had such an effect.

But everything in your demeanour seemed to sway only from one thing and it seemed like that could be your fall. You had lost yourself when you saw Bucky, whatever his attitude towards you had been, your reaction was the same. The immense stress and fear that Steve had seen you get every time you saw him, made him worried. He heard your whisper Bucky’s former nickname in fear when you first saw him. He'd noticed that you were tenser since recognising Bucky and even if you tried hiding it he noticed that your body was always angle more towards his friend, signalling where you unconsciously had your attention.

Although these clear signals, it seemed you had hidden it rather well. The first thing Wanda got from your mind when entering on Steve’s command, was the fear and hazy thoughts rushing back and forth from distant memories. They’d gone so fast she wasn’t able to see them, however, she made out Bucky to be the main one in everyone. Steve shook his head, he had as little control over what was happening as Bucky, and honestly, it scared him. He was afraid you would trigger something from Bucky. The only upper hand he saw, to clear the tension between you, was that you seemed to at least trust being in his presence.

”And?”

”And what?” Steve furrowed his brows as he was jerked out of his thoughts.

”And what made you take the responsibility for her?” Bucky’s voice was still strained but had an edge to it. Turning around, Steve couldn’t to a beginning to find his words when he saw his friend. The emotions swirling in Bucky’s eyes made him wonder how much went on in his head. It made him understand how serious the situation was.

”It’s a favour”, was his insufficient response.

”But why did you and your righteous ass say yes!” Bucky exclaimed. ”Why did you put her in a room which isn’t more than ten goddamn feet from mine!” He had taken unconsciously steps towards Steve and the captain felt like the situation was getting out of hand. He saw and felt his friend beginning to lose himself to this problem, winding it up more then what was healthy for anyone, especially him. To take ahold of it Steve walked forwards, taking a maybe to harsh grip on Bucky.

”Bucky, Bucky listen to me! The Winter room is the safest place we can keep her, I am her guardian because Fury can’t be here to watch over her. He is the only one who has her figured out at the moment, so we need to trust this choice”, the two men stared at each other before Bucky’s eyes began to flicker. It wasn’t because he couldn’t hold Steve’s gaze, instead it looked like he tried finding something, not an object but something inside him. A fleeting memory or thought was what Steve guessed as he studied his friend. The soldier's lip started to quiver minimally and he could see that this problem tore his friend's walls down. It started to break him down once more.

Taglist: @haven-in-writing @flowerchild1216 @krystallynx @lancsnerd @ohhhmyloki @colie87

#Steve Rogers #captain america #Bucky Barnes #james buchanan barnes #Winter Soldier #steve x reader #bucky x reader #winter solider x reader #steve fanfic #bucky fanfic #winter soldier fanfiction #WYBM chapter 12 #avengers x reader #avengers fanfiction #the-goddess-of-mischief-masterlist #WYBM #tony x reader #tony stark

28 notes · View notes

shewas-agaystripper · 5 years

Text

The Clinic: Part Sixteen

Brian is sent off to Queen Mary's Psychiatric Hospital to cure his depression and borderline. His roommates, John in particular, help him push through this difficult time in his life

Hello dear people! It’s been a while since the last part part of The Clinic was uploaded, which has mainly to do with the fact that my original blog of six years was deteled by Tumblr without any sign or warning, and they would not react to any mails so I had to start all over; and two weeks into waiting for them to reply my laptop broke down and I had to take it back to the store. They said it would take 3-4 days to fix it but it took 18 so that was great! However, I now have my laptop back, and I have a new blog (with basically the same name but different dashes). Please feel free to talk to me and shoot me messages! I’m feeling kind of lonely on my new blog still :s

Anyway! The good news is that I finished Part 16 on an alternative laptop, and Part 17 will be finished before the end of the week also, and will follow suit!

Have fun reading, and any sort of feedback or suggestions is appreciated!

P.s. Normally I’d link all the previous chapters here, but as SOMEONE @staff) deleted my whole entire blog, they’re now gone. If you haven’t read the previous chapters yet, or would like to reread them first, here is the whole thing on my AO3 account!

‘We’ll see you tomorrow, then, in doctor Imholz’ office. Try and fill in as much of this paperwork already, and make sure to be on time.’

With that, a stack of files, and a handshake from each of the individuals present in the dusty but surprisingly spacious staff meeting room, Brian was given permission to leave the room, and he all but stumbled outside. When he closed the door behind him, he could not help but lean against it with his back, close his eyes, and take a deep breath - something he felt like he had been unable to do for the past two hours.

After having announced to Nolan and doctor Imholz the evening before that he intended to file for a reassessment to try and be dismissed from Queen Mary’s for the sake of being able to support John when he was released, his mentor had called together what they had called a crisis meeting in which staff discussed the viability of Brian’s wish to be released before. It had been a long and stressful meeting, one in which Brian had largely been left to sit back and let people he’d never been aware were responsible for his progress throw technical terms and mental jargon at each other. He had hardly been asked to explain his reasons for wanting to leave Queen Mary’s so soon, but the overall consensus in the end was that they would grant his wish for a reassessment. That was - he had been at Queen Mary’s for at least three months; had never perpetrated any acts of disobedience, vandalism, violence, and the like; had never skipped any meetings with his superiors; had always displayed what Nolan had called ‘proper and respectable behaviour towards staff and patients’, and, borderline or not, he was deemed capable enough to make his own decisions and understanding the consequences of them.

Thank God. At least they still treated him as human despite the label they had stuck on him.

‘How’d it go?’

Brian recognised the voice of the speaker sooner than he saw him, even though he should have been able to see him from - as a matter of speaking - miles away. Being one of the few patients with long blond hair, Roger always stood out a bit; but now that he was the only one to be seen in the otherwise empty hallway, let alone that he was leaning against the wall right across from Brian, really made hi unmistakeable to Brian, even now that his mind was spinning like a whirlwind.

‘Eh… I think it went alright?’ Brian said somewhat hesitantly. ‘They said I meet the, uh, qualifications to apply for a reassessment.’

‘And?’ Roger asked, eyes brightening with hope but still a bit cautious, as he, of course, had no idea what had been discussed in his absence.

‘They said they’ll make a phone call to the board right this afternoon to formally open the process of reassessment.’

‘No way! That’s great news! You’ll get to leave!’ Roger all but shouted across the hallway, and before Brian could prepare for it, he was tackled in a hug so sudden and so tight that he almost dropped the stack of papers he had been clutching against his chest. To be fair, he was still clutching them against his chest; now that Roger had enveloped him in a nearly reckless embrace, there was no other place for him to put his arms other than squeezing them tight against his body. It was uncomfortable for a bit, mainly because Brian wasn’t so outgoing himself, and wasn’t used to Roger behaving this way either. However, as Roger continued to hold him tight and seemed to try and rock him encouragingly by skipping from one leg to the other, all while unintelligible but nonetheless encouraging sounds escaped him, Brian could not help but smile. It was good to see Roger, who he had seen so down and helpless during multiple relapses into whatever drugs he could find himself, be in such a positive mindset again. Of course, nothing was set in stone yet, and Brian realised all too well that chances were that incriminating information against him could be found during his trial, that the psychiatrist who would be called in to examine him could vote against him leaving, and that the jury might deem him unable of returning to society as of yet. But if the official start of his procedure to try and be acquitted from Queen Mary’s brought his friend so much hope and joy, then who was Brian to bring him down?

‘Oh my God, and you’ll be able to leave Queen Mary’s and live happily ever after with John far away from this clown academy!‘ Roger continued to mumble against Brian’s shoulder, and Brian snorted.

‘That’s a name for Queen Mary’s I haven’t heard before.’

‘Am I wrong though?’ Roger asked, looking up at him in all seriousness. His blue eyes shone brighter than they had done in ages, and Brian couldn’t help but wish that Roger could always be like this, bright and bubbly and alert and happy.

‘You’re not. But if you don’t stop crushing me now, this clown will have to be admitted into the infirmary with a pair of broken ribs.’

Roger let go of him with a sigh. ‘Don’t think I will leave clown academy alive if John finds out I broke your ribcage.’

Brian felt his heart skip a beat at the mentioning of the name of his partner. John, who had gone through a dreadful night filled with tearful wake-ups and nightmares, and who unfortunately had been least comforted by the idea that Brian was filing for a reassessment among the four of them. Brian had hoped that making that promise to John would alleviate his worries, but it hadn’t quite been the miracle cure he had hoped for. Looking back at it, he should have known better than to think that John’s grey skies would turn to blue at the mere mentioning of the option of reassessment. Despite the fact that John’s depression turned every good news bleak, it was also not at all guaranteed yet that he’d actually be allowed to leave. After this morning’s meeting they had clarity at least to the extent that Brian could be filed for a reassessment, but this of course did not mean his case would be approved of, or how long it would take for his psychiatrists to come to a conclusion. It might take months for all he knew - months of time he simply did not have.

‘How is he?’ Brian asked carefully.

‘Very quiet ever since you left for that meeting. We couldn’t persuade him to go out with us to play, so we stayed with him in our dorm.’

‘Thanks,’ Brian said. ‘That you didn’t- didn’t go off without him.’

‘Of course not. We know he’s not very stable at the moment, and he might do things that he’d…’ Roger’s voice trailed off as he searched for the right words to express what they both knew was possible but which neither of them was particularly eager to speak out loud. ‘Either way, he’ll be glad to hear you’ve been approved for reassessment.’

‘Yes, we should go tell him,’ Brian said, trying to oppress the hint of excitement he felt; after all, he had no idea how or even if John was going to react to this spark of good news. ‘Where is he?’

‘In the canteen with Freddie. Can you imagine how confused I was to see Freddie having to drag John to the canteen instead of the other way around?’ Brian, who could not picture the scene at all, shook his head. ‘Come on, I’ll take you there. Lunch started about ten minutes ago but I’m sure they saved us a plate. I’m bloody starving.’

Brian again nodded in agreement - that was, to the part where Roger said they would head back to the canteen. He was not exactly hungry, and would not mind at all if John, in his current state of depression, and Freddie, with his current solitary task of keeping an eye on John, hadn’t thrown some mediocre sandwiches and milk cartons together for their missing friends. Roger might mind a little more, though; he had gone without heroin for quite some days now, and as a result of this was starting to get food cravings. The evening before he had eaten more than all of his roommates together, and breakfast this morning had followed the same pattern. Freddie had looked at him with a glance of horror and Brian could swear he could see Freddie counting up the number of calories and the grams of fat in his head as Roger was making his way through his third serving of milk and honey loops. Personally Brian didn’t think of it as a problem at all. Roger was skin and bone after years of heroin dependency, so if this sudden food /sprawl/ would result in a few extra pounds, it would probably be for the better.

Brian followed Roger through the hallway, half-heartedly listening to his talk of the constant headaches and cold shivers that he experienced now that it had been numerous days without heroin or any other addictive. He nodded and said ‘yes’ and ‘amen’ when appropriate, but it wasn’t until Roger shouted at him to watch his step that he was taken out of the depth of his own mind.

‘Is it Tuesday today? I hope it’s Tuesday, it’s when they sometimes have croissants at lunch. If so, I hope Freddie saved me some, because I’m seriously craving some croissants with jam right now- watch your step!’

A strong hand around his wrist tugged him to the side, and Brian almost lost his balance. His first instinct was to scold Roger for catching him off guard all of a sudden, but when he looked down at the floor below him, his flurry of anger disappeared at once. Half leaning against the wall, half sprawled across the floor was a young man, whose closed eyes and pale face at once struck Brian as a corpse.

‘Oh my God, Oh my God, Roger-’ Brian clamped a hand over his mouth and staggered a few steps back, staring in pure disbelief at his friend, who somehow remained completely calm and unbothered as he crouched down next to the body.

‘It’s okay. It’s nothing,’ Roger told him. ‘Or well, nothing- just some drugs. He’s still breathing and I can feel a pulse,’ Roger said, his hand around the man’s wrist. ‘Alexej, can you hear me?’

‘You know this guy?’ Brian asked, still keeping at least a six feet distance between him and the guy who seemed more dead than alive.

‘Of course. We’re in counseling together every morning. Group therapy or whatever it’s called,’ Roger said nonchalantly. ‘Alexej, can you hear me?’ he repeated - and then, when the guy again did not reply, a sharp slap to his left cheek made Brian shriek and Alexej groan and open one tired eye.

‘Roger!’ Brian whimpered.

‘Don’t worry. I’m in this scene, I know what I’m doing,’ Roger replied without looking up, and Brian was unsure if this answer should console him or stress him out even more. ‘Alex, say something.’

‘Hnn… I feel fuckin’… awful, man,’ the guy said under his breath, but Brian was still able to hear, besides the Slavic accent, the slur in his voice. He had no idea how Roger stayed calm in the midst of this, but then again - Freddie had also always remained calm and collected whenever Roger messed up his clean streak again and was found lying on the dorm room floor with a syringe lodging in his elbow. It was something some people could apparently get used to, but Brian had known right from the start that he was not among these ‘happy few’, or whatever one wanted to call them.

‘Bet you do. Now, listen. Did you do this yourself?’ Roger asked him. Alexej nodded slowly, and Roger did so too. ‘How much?’

‘Wha?’ Alexej opened one eye again.

‘How many grams?’

His eye fell shut again. ‘Don’t… recall.’

‘Right. Well, sit still, I’m taking this syringe out of you.’ With trained expertise, Roger pulled the needle out of the man’s elbow. It was only when the object had been removed that Brian could see how bruised the skin in and around the addict’s elbow was. The image of it made him queasy, even though he had beheld similar sights on Roger’s arms time and time again.

Alexej grunted when the tip of the needle was removed from his skin, and a drop of blood trickled down from the small puncture. Roger wiped it away and held the syringe up in the air to inspect the item at close quarters. Brian could not have determined anything from the injection, but Roger, an expert of the field, shook his head condemningly.

‘The filler area is still half full, and there are particles in it. Where’d you get this trash?’

‘Geoff sold it to me.’

‘Of course he did,’ Roger rolled his eyes. ‘Listen, don’t buy his shit again. If this is baking soda or whatever it can cause serious problems,’ he lectured, as if doing heroin wasn’t dangerous enough on its own. Brian would have snorted if the entire situation wouldn’t have been so pathetic. ‘It can clog your blood vessels or even arteries, and you can die from that. I know life in here is shit but it’s not worth dying for. You’re with me?’

‘Got it,’ Alexej grumbled.

Roger nodded, then held the injection up in the air again. ‘This syringe must be rather new. The needle is still very sharp - you don’t see that often in here,’ he said, lightly jabbing the tip of it against his forefinger, which made Brian more than a little nervous. ‘You don’t mind if I keep this as a reward for helping you, Alex, do you?’ he asked, and brought the injection up to the back pocket of his jeans.

‘Roger!’ Brian hissed, and his friend looked up with an innocent expression that definitely was completely unfit for the current situation.

‘What?’ Roger asked.

‘Put that back!’ Brian told him, and Roger, bringing up the syringe again, stared at the object, then at the source of it, and then back at Brian.

‘You mean like this?’ he asked, and Brian couldn’t prevent a gasp of horror when he saw the tip of the needle disappear into the bruised inner area of Alexej’s elbow - quite literally the place it came from indeed.

‘Roger! Stop that!’ he whimpered.

‘Just joking,’ grinned Roger, who then showed that he’d slid the needle right past Alexej’s arm, but which from Brian’s viewing angle made it look as if he’d jammed the injection right back into his arm.

‘Not funny,’ Brian all but pouted, unsure if his heart rate would recover from this stunt of Roger’s anywhere soon.

‘It was hilarious and you know it,’ Roger said before turning to the person still on the floor. ‘Now, let’s get you on your legs and to the infirmary,’ Roger concluded and placed his hands under Alexej’s armpits, but his patient moved away from him with the little strength he could still muster.

‘No,’ he protested. ‘No infirmary. Been there. Isolation…’ From these half-sentences Roger and Brian were able to conclude that Alexej didn’t want to be sent to the infirmary out of fear that they’d put him in isolation to sober him up, but Roger clearly thought this objection was irrelevant.

‘I’m not gonna have you die on me, Alex,’ he said, gesturing for Brian to come over and help him haul the man off the floor. Brian cautiously stepped closer and positioned himself at the other side of his body, and hesitantly followed Roger’s example of placing his arm under Alexej’s armpit.

‘Won’t… just… no nurses,’ their companion said, struggling to try and keep himself on the floor when Brian’s and Roger’s joint power tried putting him back on his feet. Roger and Alexej argued back and forth, until Roger eventually told his groupmate that he could go if he’d be able to climb the stairs up to the dorm rooms himself. Having made this deal, Alexej allowed Brian and Roger to pick him up beneath the armpits and escort him through the hallway and towards the stairs, on the way of which they fortunately did not come across any staff members who might notice that something was off.

It took some time, persistence, and Roger’s threat of calling in the nurse after all to get Alexej upstairs and in bed. Brian judged that he looked somewhat better than he had done before, and after having gotten him a glass of water and Roger promising him he’d drop by later that afternoon to check up on him, the two men left the room behind to finally go to lunch and meet their friends. Roger was a little disgruntled at having missed the largest share of lunchtime, as he was still ‘hungry enough to eat an entire horse,’ and Brian was anxious to see John and bring him the news. They skipped downstairs, paced towards the canteen, and Brian had Roger somewhat begrudgingly throw the syringe he’d gotten from the encounter with Alexej in the bin before they entered the canteen. They found their friends at the usual spot at the back of the canteen, and Brian all but ran towards them. Somehow Roger was still faster than he was - presumably because he saw a plate loaded with croissants in the middle of the table, the promise of which seemed to make him forget about the syringe he’d just had to throw away on Brian’s watch.

Once they reached the table, Roger was the first to slump down on the chair next to Freddie, and Brian sat down across from him on the vacant chair next to John. John did not look up at either of them, which made Brian’s heart sink a bit - but the smallest of a smile appeared on his partner’s face when he put his hand over those John had placed in his lap.

Roger was the one to do the talking once he’d settled down and grabbed a croissant from the plate. ‘Sorry we’re late. Had to patch up someone of my drugs group again.’

‘Henry again?’ Freddie asked.

‘No, Alexej. The Latvian guy,’ Roger mumbled between two bites of croissant.

‘Don’t think I know a Latvian guy around here,’ Freddie frowned. ‘But what do I care! How did the meeting go, Brian? Please tell me you’ve got some good news.’

Brian smiled at him, which was really all he had to do; the mere curling of his lips made Freddie squeal in delight.

‘You were approved for reassessment! Oh my God!’ Freddie flashed the biggest smile he’d ever seen him do, and even John looked up with a sparkle of hope in his eyes. ‘You’ll get to leave with Deaky!’

‘I’ve merely been approved, Freddie,’ said Brian, who - despite loving Freddie’s enthusiasm - knew he had to remain realistic. However, now that he had seen John smile at the good news, he allowed himself to share some positivity between the four of them. ‘But they’ve gone to my records and found nothing against me. No drugs smuggling or violence or being disrespectful towards the staff or anything, so the process can go ahead.’

‘Darling, that’s amazing news,’ Freddie said. ‘So what happens now? When will you have meetings with your psychiatrist and such?’

‘I’ll be assigned a new psychiatrist to evaluate me. Someone neutral, they said. I’ll get to meet him tomorrow morning,’ Brian said.

‘What’s his name?’ Freddie asked.

‘You probably don’t know him - he’s coming from an external mental hospital. They have to make sure he doesn’t know a thing about me yet and can’t be prejudiced in any way. Even Sarah and Jasper and doctor Imholz don’t know him,’ Brian said. ‘But his name is Fisher. I hope he’s alright.’

‘I’m sure he’ll be alright. And even if he’s dumb, all you’ll have to do is keep up with him for what, two sessions or so?’ Roger said, grasping the second croissant of the plate.

‘Five sessions,’ Brian corrected him. ‘I’ll see him once every day starting tomorrow until the end of the week. Then he’ll make a judgement about whether I’m ready to leave or not, and if he approves, he’ll vouch in favour of my request at the final hearing.’

‘Final hearing?’

‘Yes, in like three, three and a half weeks my case will go to a kind of court that will decide what to do. You know, two people from the board that rule this and other mental hospitals across the country will hear my case, and make a final decision. Those and - and my former psychiatrist.’ Brian could hear his own voice fall when he mentioned this past member of the jury. He had repressed every memory of professor Sumner for the past few days, even though he knew that once he’d go for a reassessment he would be standing eye to eye with him sooner or later. The thought of it was enough to make him shiver, which John seemed to realise, too. Somewhere along the line of the conversation, Brian had retreated the hand he’d placed on top of John’s hand to be able to awkwardly pluck at his own nails, but now he felt John putting his hand on his upper leg and gently stroking him as a form of wordless comfort. They shared a sideways glance with each other and smiled, which was enough to make Brian realise that his partner’s happiness was worth having to deal with Sumner again a thousand times over.

Roger, still, was unimpressed with the entire procedure. ‘I think just skipping over the barbed wire would be easier than going through all of this crap. But I’ve gotta admit that I’m pleasantly surprised. I never would have thought Queen Mary’s would be able to pull off an actual protocol like this.’

‘Well, we don’t know that yet,’ Brian said. ‘They called someone in to evaluate me, is all they’ve done so far. And handing me two threes worth of paperwork to fill out.’ He nodded at the pile of papers he had dragged along from the meeting, and Freddie was the first one to pick up the documents lying on top to have a look.

‘Code of conduct. Mental health statement. Mental health history. Family background. Plan for return to society,’ Freddie read out loud. ‘It’s as if you’re to become the British ambassador to Saudi Arabia or something.’

‘I’ve definitely got my work cut out for me,’ Brian said, massaging his temples with his fingertips. Nolan had quickly gone over many of the papers he’d have to fill out in the following weeks, but the amount of them had been so staggering that Brian had felt himself drift off after half a minute. He knew he’d have to bring himself around to fill everything out as well as possible, but the idea of it seemed so daunting. It was so weird, so final, to know that this could be his way out of Queen Mary’s. That within a month he could be free again, free to go and do as he pleased, instead of being locked behind the barred windows and the barbed fences of a mental health institution. It was as if he had been at Queen Mary’s for years, yet at the same time he felt like it had been just yesterday when he had handed over his suitcase and said goodbye to his parents. He wanted nothing more than to leave, especially for the sake of John, but he was nervous. What if he wasn’t ready for it yet? His depression was nowhere near cured, and since no one so far really seemed to know what caused and what could alleviate borderline, he doubted he was very much cured in that area. What if he was to leave Queen Mary’s only to have a breakdown, and be shipped right back in? What would become of John if Brian proved to be unable to deal with the mental mess he still found himself dealing with?

‘When is all of this due?’ asked Freddie as he piled up the lot of papers again.

‘The first papers for tomorrow. Not all of it, but… quite some, I think,’ Brian said. A mere look at the stack of paper was enough to make him feel nervous.

Roger whistled shortly. ‘I was gonna invite you to go outside and play some music, but I’m afraid you won’t have time for that then?’

‘I’m afraid not, no,’ Brian answered. ‘This is, eh, kind of more important at the moment. I need to get this done as much as I can.’

‘I’ll come with you. I’ll help you fill them out,’ John said resolutely, and Brian felt his heart swell.

‘Thank you. I’d love that,’ he whispered at his partner, who smiled at him a little shyly.

‘Marvellous. Do you want us to help you, too, or should we make way for you to get down to paperwork?’ Freddie asked. Normally Brian would have been too nervous to tell them off, but now that so much was at stake and four people working on the same task would probably just distract him, Brian politely told them John and he would manage on their own - something that, much to his relief, went down well with Freddie.

‘Great. But first the two of you got to eat. Both of you haven’t had any lunch yet, and the canteen is closing in like five minutes. Can you believe that I’ve actually gone through an entire croissant while you weren’t here?’

‘An entire croissant?’ asked an obviously surprised Roger, who never would have expected his boyfriend to eat something like that if not directly faced with the threat of being dragged into the infirmary if he would not budge and eat the calorie bomb.

‘Don’t get too excited, dear. I was merely trying to persuade John to eat,’ Freddie said, which, Brian decided, sounded a lot more like something he would do.

‘You haven’t had anything yet, then?’ Brian asked John, who shrugged.

‘No. Not really hungry.’

‘Even not now that Brian’s come back with such good news?’ Roger asked, but the answer remained no. ‘Come on, Deaks, you have to eat something. Or do you need me to use my techniques for Freddie on you for a change?’

John now grimaced, and picked up a croissant from the plate, from which he slowly started plucking strips of bread. Roger, Freddie, and Brian enthusiastically spoke of the progress Brian’s case might be making and what to say to doctor Fisher when he would be standing eye in eye with him - whether to be all upbeat or to be sincere about his emotional condition. Brian, in the meantime, could not really get a hold on what John was feeling. On the one hand he did nod and smile every now and then, and answered without a problem when he was asked a question by one of his friends. Still, his heart did not seem in it, and when the lunch lady came over to tell them lunchtime was over, he had only munched down about half of the croissant, and seemed relieved he was now able to toss the remains of it back on the plate. It was Brian who tried to see if there would be some leeway that would allow them to take some food up to their room.

‘Could we maybe just finish these last croissants upstairs?’ he asked the middle-aged woman, who scanned him and his friends over for a few seconds. ‘It’s just that we had a special meeting with our psychiatrist and only got here five minutes ago,’ Brian tried, which seemed to make the lady think.

‘You know that officially I can’t allow that. It’s against policy,’ she said.

‘Please? John here has barely had anything yet,’ Brian added.

‘It’s okay,’ John said. ‘I’m not hungry. I’ll just have a cup of tea and we’ll go back to our room,’ he said, giving a nod into the direction of the vendor at the other side of the canteen.

‘I’m afraid that won’t do,’ the woman said.

‘Are you in that much of a hurry to close off the canteen?’ Brian asked. He knew staff had been given orders from above to close off the canteen right after mealtimes, but did that really leave no room for someone to grab a drink before leaving?

‘Darlings, have you been living underneath a stone?’ Freddie asked. ‘The coffee and tea vendor has been dismantled.’

‘The coffee vendor- why?’ Brian asked with genuine surprise.

‘Because last week Drew threw a cup of burning coffee in Clyde’s face, and he had to be taken to the local hospital for who knows what sort of degree facial burns,’ Roger said with an equal amount of amusement as irritation in his voice.

‘I don’t even know why this sort of thing surprises me any longer,’ said Brian, lowering his face into his hands. If anything, it should surprise him that none of the masterminds they were surrounded by had come up with the idea of pulling off this prank earlier.

‘This is why we can’t have nice things, I suppose,’ John sighed, the legs of his chair scratching over the floor as he stood up.

‘You know, just take your croissant. You don’t strike me as the trouble-making kind,’ the woman said, which made Freddie grin mischievously, telling Brian that something undoubtedly inappropriate was about to leave his lips.

‘Obviously you haven’t met cold turkey Roger before his seven o’clock shower blowjob yet,’ Freddie said with one arm sneaking around Roger’s waist, but it was quickly batted away by his less than amused boyfriend.

‘Thank you. We’ll be on our way,’ Brian said to the woman who now looked at them as if she saw water burning. He caught Roger’s lower arm to drag him along and make sure he would not stay behind to say anything in reply to Freddie’s comment that could make the situation even worse than it was already. John understood the hint and followed right behind with the stack of papers Brian had left on the table, and Freddie, probably out of fear of being left to explain himself to a now traumatised lunch lady, wasted no time in following suit.

Brian all but ushered the couple out of the canteen, and only let go of Roger when his friend was done threatening Freddie that he would take revenge on him one way or another. By the time this happened, they had reached their bedroom already; John opened the door and practically burst into their safe haven. Putting the paperwork on Brian’s nightstand, he flopped down on his own bed, covering his face in his hands.

Brian was not too sure what to make of this behaviour. John had always seemed relieved to be back in their room after a long morning of group therapy and two shared mealtimes, but his relief to be able to crawl back into seclusion again for the upcoming hours seemed to consist of something more this time. John was still stressed out and feeling down regarding the judgement which had been made concerning his more or less forced removal from Queen Mary’s in a month, and the steps Brian had undertaken to try and be admitted in time with him had so far done little to ease his nerves. He wished he could do something for John to help him ease out of the whirlwind of worries and depressive thoughts, but for the time being, there was little he could do. Promising John he would be right there with him on the day he would be acquitted would be too risky; after all, even though things looked good for him so far, he could not guarantee that his case would be approved of by the jury of mental health experts he would have to appeal to at the end of this trial. Even if it was, he did not know when he would be set free from Queen Mary’s. The judgement date had been set at approximately three and a half weeks from now, meaning that he’d get to hear the decision a few days before John’s expulsion date. He doubted however if Queen Mary’s would let go of him right away, or if - just like in the case of John - they’d allow another month between the judgement and the date of dismission, to allow for a month of transition time. John was currently in the dismission period, which meant he had sessions with social workers who tried to help him establish a routine for when he’s got to leave and return to his old life.

Not that there was much left of his old life, in all honesty. Both his mother and the aunt and uncle he had lived with had thrown him out, and he had no other addresses to return to. The address Brian and he had discussed was that they’d go and live with Brian’s parents for the first few months, before finding an apartment on their own somewhere in the city - which was a plan Brian’s parents had approved of once they had overcome the shock of hearing that Brian was going for a reassessment to leave Queen Mary’s less than six months after he had been sent to it. The counsellors John had spoken too, however, were less convinced of this plan - mainly because it was of yet unsure if Brian would be released at all, or when exactly this would be. They were busy trying to set John up with guided community housing for people just released from hospital, prison, or mental institutions like the one he came from, taking no note of the fact that it would make John miserable to live in a community setting with around the clock guidance and interference. Brian knew that these social workers meant well, but he thought it really rather objectionable that they refused to listen to John’s opinion on being sent to a housing group, and kept pushing forward their vision regardless of the wishes of the one they worked for. The inability of the counsellors and John to see eye to eye on the question of where he was to go after Queen Mary’s would deliver him back into society made John cooperative to the counselling sessions, and brought stress and tension to his days and nights. Brian wished he could drag the counsellors over the desk by their ties and tell them what he thought of their method of ‘helping’ his partner, but since the sessions were closed to John and his mentor only, there was little he could do. All that was within his power was trying to convince his partner that they’d work their way around it, that his parents were willing to let him in even if Brian would not have been set free yet, and pray that his case would be approved of as soon as possible.

‘I’ll just grab my lyrics book and then Roger and I will be on our way,’ Freddie said as he dug through the stack of notebooks in the drawer of his nightstand. ‘Is there anything we can do for you before you leave?’

Apart from a handful of witty comments in the style of ‘burn down Queen Mary’s’ and ‘bribing the judges to make sure they approve of Brian’s case’ John and Brian had little serious matters to ask for, so Freddie and Roger left them with the promise that they’d be gone for a few hours so that the other couple could have lots of time to get down to the paperwork. They left with a handful of pens and a few notebooks, and before they knew it, Brian and John had the entire room to themselves.

‘Well then,’ said John, who by now had removed his hands from his face and reached out for the bunch of papers. ‘Shall we get going, then?’

Brian, in all honesty, was a tad disappointed by John’s offer to get right down to business. He would have preferred to first take a moment to talk about how John was doing today, with the eye on his partner’s reassessment case and the idea of having to leave sooner or later, but he could tell that John had brought up the idea of doing straight to the paperwork that needed to be tackled just so they would not have to talk about how he felt. Brian was not entirely sure if this was the right way to deal with one’s emotions, but after recent events, he knew better than to push John into talking when his boyfriend clearly did not want to.

‘Alright,’ Brian said, taking a seat on his own bed. ‘What’ve you got there?’

John skimmed through the papers. ‘Family background and Code of Conduct. What do you wanna start with?’

‘I’ll have Code of Conduct. If I’m not mistaken that’s just the way I’m supposed to behave after I leave Queen Mary’s,’ Brian said, holding out his hand for John to give him the papers. Their beds had moved close enough to be at an arm’s length from each other, and Brian suspected it would not take long before they’d permanently shove their beds together just like Freddie and Roger did.

‘I’ll have a look at the family background. See if there’s anything weird in there,’ John said, to which Brian nodded. For a moment or so they both quietly read through their assigned papers, the only sound being that of flicking papers and that of John’s humming. Though it distracted Brian from reading a little, he had never heard his partner hum before, and decided to let it be - it was cute, after all, and a sign that John felt comfortable.

‘It says here I’m not supposed to spread overly negative opinions about Queen Mary’s,’ Brian eventually said. ‘And that I’m not allowed to reach out to the press to share negative experiences anonymously.’

‘So does that mean you can share negative experiences un-anonymously?’ John asked.

‘I guess so. Maybe because they can trace me down and beat me up then,’ Brian said.

‘They would if they’d have staff they could miss,’ John grinned.

Brian flicked the page, and read in comfortable silence until a question popped up in his mind. ‘Have you had similar papers to sign? You know, since you’ll be leaving soon?’

‘Yeah, these things sound kind of familiar,’ John said. ‘I just never paid much attention to them.’

‘You didn’t?’

‘Not after I asked if they would keep me if I refused to sign, and they said I’d be let go of regardless,’ John said, and Brian felt a pang of hurt when he was reminded once again that John did not really want to leave this place that was the only home he’d known for these past two years. ‘These papers are just a formality.’

‘Oh. Should I just sign then regardless?’

‘I don’t think you’ll be approved of if you refuse to sign their dumb codes of conduct, I’m afraid,’ John judged. ‘Besides, spilling the beans on Queen Mary’s doesn’t seem like something you’d do anyway.’

‘Probably not, no. Let me just get a pen,’ Brian said, leaning over to open the drawer of his nightstand, then his pencil case, and fish out one of the only two pens he possessed at the moment. Given that Queen Mary’s had a strict no-sharp-objects-policy, getting to keep two pens was a luxury that Brian had come to cherish and a right he wished to protect. With the ballpoint pen in his hand he skimmed through the last paragraphs - something about keeping confidential information confidential and not slandering the names of any of the staff or his fellow patients - he went to put a somewhat shaky signature on the dotted line at the end of the handout. Just as he was halfway through adding the date and location of signing to the document, John caught him by surprise with a business-like question.

‘What is the gross yearly income of your father?’

Brian blinked. ‘Excuse me?’

‘Not for my interest. It’s one of the questions they ask you to answer in this family background. Along with your parents’ work experiences since the age of eighteen, and their involvement with law enforcement for the past twenty-five years, including petty crimes like parking fines and speeding tickets and such.’

Brian took a few seconds to reflect before replying. ‘It really is as if I’m becoming the ambassador of Saudi Arabia,’ he eventually mumbled. ‘Seriously though, how am I supposed to know whether my father was ever fined for driving through a red light before I was even born?’

‘Guess we’ll have to cross-examine him when we see him this weekend,’ John shrugged, straightening out the paper. ‘Both of your parents are coming, right?’

‘Yeah, they should be,’ Brian said. ‘At least that’s what mum said on the phone.’ He could sense John looking at him, but he did not have the courage to look him in the eyes at the moment, so he focussed his attention on the pen he now rolled between his thumb and forefinger.

‘Are you nervous about seeing them again? Now that- well, since you broke the news to them yesterday?’

Brian hadn’t expected John to ask this question. He wasn’t usually the one to talk about emotions, let alone to bring up the topic if he was not coaxed into doing so. However, even though Brian wasn’t sure if he was quite in the mood to talk about it, he supposed he owed John something of an explanation at this point. He had told John that he had broken the news of trying to leave to his parents, and that they agreed to his request of letting them move in until they’d get an apartment for themselves, but other than that, he had been rather quiet about the whole matter. Part of it was because John hadn’t been very talkative about his reassessment either, but his parents’ emotional reaction had also been weighing in. This was something he had not told John, but he had a feeling that his boyfriend had been able to sense it - and now that he directly addressed the matter, it seemed best to Brian to break it to him.

‘A bit, I guess. My dad wasn’t happy, and my mom - well, eh, she cried. Said I was wasting my chance of healing by getting away from Queen Mary’s before they could complete their job,’ Brian mumbled, and he could feel John’s empathetic eyes on him. ‘But she said that if it was really what I wanted, then she would support me,’ he shrugged it off, even though he still had not completely overcome his mother’s reaction. It was weird in a way, because he had heard her cry a lot over the past six months - the days prior of his admission, the day of his admission, upon saying goodbye, the first few times they had telephoned, the first visit his parents had paid to him at Queen Mary’s - but this seemed different for some reason. Different, perhaps because now she cried not because she missed him, but because she felt so powerless now that he was leaving Queen Mary’s before his treatment was over - she might even be afraid of what was to become of him now that he might soon be out and about in society again. Because she was disappointed in him, or at least with his decision - which was incredibly hard to stomach for Brian.

‘I’m sure she will support you,’ said John, who reached out a hand to put on Brian’s shoulder. ‘And your father will also come around sooner or later. He always does, you told me once, right? This will be no different.’

‘Probably, yeah,’ Brian said somewhat vaguely. ‘I mean, he’s got little choice - my mum already said yes to our plans, and regardless of what my dad might think, it’s my mum who wears the pants around the house,’ Brian chuckled, but his amusement faded when something else came to mind. ‘She was also the one to send me here, now that I think about it.’

‘She did that because she cares about you, sweetie,’ John said in the softest, most tender voice - one Brian would only get to hear when John tried to comfort him. ‘She couldn’t know it would be such a shitshow in here. She did what she thought would be best for you.’

‘It was, in a way,’ Brian sighed. ‘I never would have met you and those other clowns if I hadn’t been sent here.’

John pulled a face. ‘Out of all possible nicknames you could have called me, clown would be the one I personally never would have used. I’ve never said anything funny in my life.’

Brian begged to differ. ‘You called this place a shitshow like three seconds ago. And Roger called Queen Mary’s a clown academy just this morning.’

‘Sounds like him,’ John snorted before he pulled his hand away from Brian’s shoulder and tucked it under his head, taking in the sight of the ceiling for a moment before he said: ‘I’ll miss him when I’ll have to leave. You know, despite all the drama with his addiction and his vulgar comments and his annoying- annoying everything, I’ll still miss him. And Freddie, of course. I’ll miss him and his stupid enthusiasm about everything.’

Brian smiled at John’s way of appreciating their roommates, who overtime had become so much more than that. ‘I know. I’ll miss them too if I do get to leave. We’ve become such a team overtime.’

‘I never would have thought so before you got here,’ John admitted. ‘When I’d been assigned to a room with Freddie and Roger about a year ago, I thought I’d lose my mind. They were so… loud and intense and dramatic. I didn’t talk to my psychiatrist for a week when he refused to have me switch to another room. But I got used to them, and then you came around… And it just fit. You brought balance between all of us. You’re like… I don’t know. Some kind of glue that stuck us together.’

‘You’re so sweet,’ Brian smiled. ‘I’m sure Freddie and Roger will miss you just as much. I already overheard their plans of jumping on you for the longest hug you’ve ever had in your life on the day you leave here.’

John, contrary to what Brian had expected, did not pull a face but smiled back at him. ‘And you’re just letting them have that record?’

‘You know you can tell me if you need a cuddle,’ said Brian as he dragged himself up from his own bed in order to join John on his.

‘I can’t. Too antisocial to ask for physical intimacy,’ John said, although he did stretch out his arms to invite Brian into his bed and, more importantly, into his embrace.

‘Physical intimacy, you say?’ Brian wiggled his eyebrows at John.

‘This sort of thing is the reason why I’m antisocial in the first place,’ John sighed, but he leaned into the touch of his boyfriend anyway.

‘But you’ve made great progress,’ Brian remarked, tucking a loose strand of John’s hair behind his ear. ‘You talk during group therapy sessions, you go out and have fun with us and even with other people sometimes, like that time in the gym. You’re even allowed to leave because you’re doing so much better socially.’

‘Forced to, more like,’ John muttered. ‘I don’t want to leave.’

Brian, who felt like this might be a gateway to talking about John’s emotions concerning leaving Queen Mary’s in more depth, asked: ‘Even not if I go with you?’

‘That’s better, of course, a lot better. But I’m still - afraid. You know, what if I’m just a burden to your parents? What if they send me away just like… like everyone else?’

This was something Brian heard for the first time, and something that caught him by surprise, even though perhaps it shouldn’t have. John had seemed relieved when Brian had told him that they could live with his parents when they would first be dismissed from Queen Mary’s, but every place he’d ever lived had eventually kicked him out - his family home, his aunt and uncle’s place, and now Queen Mary’s. His fear of being expulsed again was reasonable, but Brian wished to tackle it. ‘What? They’d never send you away, honey. Trust me, they’re not that kind of people.’

‘But what if they don’t like me?’ John asked.

‘Why would they dislike you? You’re sweet and quiet and respectful. My parents will adore-’

‘Because I’m the reason you’re leaving prematurely,’ John burst in. ‘I’m the one who- you know, took away your chance at healing if all of this goes through.’

Oh, Lord. That was an aspect Brian hadn’t considered yet, but when John mentioned it, it hit him like a brick. Of course John worried about the effect he’d have on Brian now that his partner was trying to leave Queen Mary’s for his sake, and of course he worried about what Brian’s parents would think of him if this was to be one of his first impression on them. It explained John’s recent quietness and reticence, and Brian could hit himself in the face for not having seen it earlier.

‘Oh darling, is that why you’ve been so quiet about my reassessment?’

‘Maybe,’ John shrugged. ‘I just feel guilty.’

Brian, cuddling closer up to John said: ‘Never feel guilty. I never could have healed at this place of - of what exactly? Of staff members getting bitten in their arms when they try to break up a fight? Of dismantled coffee machines because the risk of people throwing hot coffee in each other’s faces is too high? Of secret isolation cells in the basement for if staff can’t handle the patients anymore and is not allowed to call the police out of management’s fear for inspection?’ Brian summed up. ‘I never could have healed here, John, and neither can you. This place is in the best interest of neither of us.’

‘I know,’ John gritted. ‘But that’s the thing - I want what’s best for you. And I’m not always sure that that’s me. Especially now that you’re about to be set free from Queen Mary’s, I’ve been wondering if I- if I should also set you free,’ John said with a sniff that Brian had a feeling preluded tears. It broke his heart seeing his partner like this, hearing how he felt about the influence he had on Brian, and his brain was working overtime trying to figure out something to say to show him that he had it all wrong - that being with him had made Brian feel infinitely better, and that he was the best thing that had ever happened to him, especially while here at Queen Mary’s.

‘John- John, listen, honey. You are what’s best for me. I could never have imagined having come this far again, to the extent where I’m able to see that life is out there, and that I want to go back to it again. That’s all thanks to you,’ Brian said, cupping John’s face in his hands when his partner tried to shy away from his eyes. ‘Not because of Sarah’s endless chatter or Jasper’s enthusiastic but bloody annoying ‘thought schemes’ or whatever he calls them, but because of you. If it wasn’t for you, I would have stayed here, biding my time, waiting until they would either admit me back to my parent’s place again, or would ship me off to a long stay clinic. It’s thanks to you that I want to leave this place, go back to school, be back in touch with my friends and family, make a life again, together with you. Because you’re the one who showed me love again,’ Brian whispered, and he could swear he could see the tears in John’s eyes by now - and if those had just been an illusion, they were definitely there when he added: ‘I never thought I’d experience love again until I found you.’

‘Fuck, Brian,’ John choked out, using the back of his sleeve to wipe away his tears. ‘You can’t just… make speeches like that on a regular afternoon and expect me to be okay.’

‘It’s okay to cry. It shows that you care.’

‘I know. I just still have to get used to like… emotions and stuff,’ John said. ‘Fuck, this is unbelievable. They really think they can put me back and have me be a functional member of society? This place honestly doesn’t know what they’re doing,’ he said, desperately trying to wipe out another line of tears, but the smile that shone through underneath told Brian that he was happy despite it all.

‘Maybe they don’t, but we do,’ Brian said. ‘We’ll go out there, sort ourselves out, get a nice studio apartment, buy some cheap pots and pans and floral furniture you wouldn’t want to be found dead on at a second-hand store, go back to school or work or whatever we want to do. We’ll visit Freddie and Roger until they’ll be let go of. We’ll play music until the neighbours knock on the walls, and drink lukewarm tea from a dysfunctional hand-me-down kettle that already seemed too good to be true.’ John’s smile grew a little wider, and Brian added: ‘And we’ll have one of those weird spider plants that grow all over the place if you don’t watch it. We’ll adopt a scrawny old cat that sleeps in our bed and hangs in the curtains at least twice a week. Your turn.’

John blinked for a bit. ‘Oh, eh… Well, I’ll ruin at least three shirts because I can’t iron for the life of me. We’ll have instruments and strings and guitar picks all over the place.’

‘We’ll have to accept ugly knitted pillow cases and crocheted tablecloths from our mums, which we’ll only bring out when they come around to visit,’ Brian followed up.

‘We’ll have an old radio or TV which keeps buzzing regardless of how well you tune it, and we’ll hit the screen with a rolled-up newspaper if we’re frustrated, as if that will make things better.’

‘We’ll have joined showers because there’ll be too little hot water for the both of us to shower separately. And I only want biscuit tins that actually contain biscuits in the house. No needlework or lightbulbs or clothing pins or the like.’

John, who by now seemed to get the hang of the game, said: ‘We’ll spend all of our excess money on records, and hang sleeves up on the wall as decoration.’

‘We’ll dump out that dumb kettle and buy a decent one, and we’ll try out weird tea flavours all day. Pineapple tea, cotton candy, or tomato-broccoli flavour or so.’

John pulled a face. ‘And I’d dump it right into the plant pots when you’re not looking. That might make those weird spider plants stop growing.’

Brian snorted. ‘And then I’d buy a cactus, and we’ll be known as the first couple ever to manage to kill a cactus. I also want a bed with at least twenty pillows and five different sorts of blankets and duvets on it so we can roll around all night. All as mismatched as possible - really kitschy.’

‘We’ll play guitar in bed until late, until I fall asleep with my bass pics still in hand. And when we wake up in the morning you’ll make your nasty tea and I’ll put on a record on the record player next to the bed so we can stay in late and listen to the Beatles, and we’ll be happy.’

Those last words were the most meaningful Brian had heard John say concerning their upcoming freedom - whether Brian would be released at the end of this reassessment trial or whether he would have to sit out his time at Queen Mary’s until the end, they would stay together, and they would be happy. They’d overcome the turbulence of their youth, the problems of the past, the battles with themselves - they’d be together, united, and they’d be happy together. They’d have each other even if the world around them would crumble, and catch each other if they would fall.

Brian tightened his arms around John’s torso, and pulled him in for a chaste but meaningful kiss on the lips.

‘And we’ll be happy.’

# # #

Unfortunately for the pair of them, John’s new-found positive outlook on Brian’s reassessment and leaving Queen Mary’s behind did not last long. A mere few hours after Brian and he had signed paperwork and reunited with Freddie and Roger for a game of mensch-ärgere-dich-nicht, a bomb threat from an anonymous culprit - most likely to be an ex-patient or relative to a patient of Queen Mary’s - destroyed whatever had been left of the atmosphere as the entire populace was escorted into the basement while police flocked around the building. Nothing was found, but the threat and the stress of hours spent in suspense waiting for the police report had put a permanent strain on all four of the members of Room 41, and none of them slept well during the night that followed. The usual drill of incident-filled mealtimes and hostility in the hallways and activity rooms took their toll on John, who was further discouraged from the forced acquittal process through another string of meetings with counsellors who tried arranging help he didn’t want and resources he didn’t need.

Brian tried to keep John somewhat upbeat by reminding him of the upcoming visit of his parents, which he hoped John would see as a safe haven to stay after Queen Mary’s, but it seemed to have the polar opposite effect on John. Instead of taking comfort in the fact that there would be a family waiting to take him in when he would be released, the mere idea of moving in with people he did not know and living at their expense seemed to freak John out, and no amount of reassurance from Brian that his parents would not mind and would love to take him in could convince him otherwise - to the point where on the day of the scheduled meeting, John hardly dared to come out of his bed.

‘Come on, lovie,’ said Brian, who had seated himself on the bed next to John. His partner, currently lying on his stomach with his face buried in a pillow, tried hard to ignore him. ‘Nolan will be here in a few minutes. You have to get up.’

‘Don’t wanna,’ John murmured into his pillow.

‘I know, but you’re going to do great.’ When John ignored this comment, Brian sighed, running a hand over John’s back. ‘What are you most afraid of?’

John huffed. ‘Everything.’

Well, that was not exactly a conclusive answer, but Brian knew what he meant. John feared meeting his parents, their reaction to him, the paperwork they’d have to sign, and most of all, the finality of his time at Queen Mary’s the meeting would signify. They would talk of plans for the future and questions would be asked regarding his background, his mental situation, his ideas for the upcoming years - the mere idea of which Brian knew freaked John out. Still, he remained hopeful that he could convince his boyfriend to get up, brave his fears, and go out there; it was important that John would get to see his parents at least once before permanently moving in with them, regardless of whether Brian would be joining him right away or not. Especially if Brian’s request of reassessment would be denied it would be important that John at least knew who his parents were, given that he’d then go to live with them without having Brian there to be his rock in an otherwise unknown environment.

‘You shouldn’t be. My parents won’t think anything negative about you, believe me.’

‘I’m sure they’re thrilled to find that their only son came home with a suicidal college dropout who was disowned by his own family,’ John said, and Brian felt his heart sink in. He hated having to hear his partner talk about himself in this manner, and was determined to make him feel more secure about himself - especially in the light of the upcoming visit.

‘Everyone in here is a dropout of some sort. Does that mean we’re all failures? Does that mean Roger, Freddie, and I are failures?’ Brian knew it was a bit cruel to put John on the spot like this, but his words seemed to have some effect on his partner.

‘Of course you’re not. You have plans to go back to school and make something of your life.’

‘And you don’t?’ Brian asked him. ‘You don’t want to go back to college at some point in time?’

John shrugged. ‘I guess.’

Knowing that this was likely to be the most he was going to get out of John at this point in time, Brian said: ‘You will. We’re going to get out of here, take some time to readjust, go back to school, find ourselves an apartment. I’ll finish my degree and you’ll finish yours, or find a job you enjoy, or- or whatever makes you happy. I’ll support you regardless of what you choose to do.’

John now turned around to lie on his back and looked at him, and it looked like he wanted to say something - a word of thanks, or an affirmation that he’d do the same for Brian - but he ended up just looking at Brian until his gaze was eventually pulled away from his boyfriend when a knock on the door distracted his attention.

‘I’ll go get it, dears,’ said Freddie as he bounced off the bed with a bit too much enthusiasm for his emaciated body, but he nevertheless made it to the door without too much visible trouble. The door was opened and Freddie enthusiastically exclaimed that Nolan had arrived (a useless statement really, given that no one else but their mentor would ever approach their ‘stink cave,’ as Roger had taken to calling their room as of late) but neither of his friends reacted to the announcement. They just sat there, each on their own side of the bed, looking at each other; Brian with a glimpse of hope and John with a look of desolation on his face. Brian knew John would have given it all he owned to be able to skip this meeting, which gave Brian all the more reason to try his best and pick his boyfriend up from the depth of the mental rabbit hole he had dug himself into.

‘Come, let’s get up. Nolan is waiting for us,’ Brian said. He deliberately let out the fact that his parents must be waiting on them, too - the mere mentioning of the presence of his mum and dad was enough to make John slide back into desolation. Brian had never seen anyone as anxious about a meeting as John was at that given moment, and he was running out of things to say to comfort him.

‘Baby, you know you won’t be alone there. I’ll be with you the entire time, and so is Nolan,’ Brian said. John didn’t react. ‘Do you need anyone else there? Maybe Freddie or Roger…?’ he said with a hesitant look towards the other side of the room, but he was luckily met with smiles and nods.

‘Of course!’ Roger said, the overly enthusiastic tone of his reply quickly explained when he added: ‘I’ll have to miss my counselling for once, but I don’t think that will matter too much.’

‘No, I’m fine. Just Brian and Nolan will do,’ John said, much to the relief of everyone apart from the proposer himself.

‘Well, Nolan and I are ready whenever you are,’ Brian told him, then corrected himself when he realised the vast liberty this statement would grant his partner to stay in their room for the remainder of the day. ‘Nolan and I are ready, and we’d like to go. There’s a lot to discuss and they’ve planned an hour for this meeting,’ he said, careful to address the discussion of future plans with his parents as neutral as possible.

‘Hm-hmm,’ John hummed as a form of answer, but his eyes were empty, and he made no movements that indicated he was planning on getting up from the bed anywhere soon. Brian thus took matters into his own hands and stood up from the bed, taking a few steps to the left so he could stand in front of John.

‘Come on, honey. Time to go. We have to take care of this sooner or later.’ Brian reached out a hand towards his partner to help him get up from the bed, but John merely stared at it. Brian heard the soft murmur of Freddie’s and Nolan’s voices behind him, and he sighed deeply before crouching down to John’s level.

‘Listen, darling. I know you’re not very comfortable about meeting my parents and talking about what to do when you have to leave Queen Mary’s, but you’re only making it harder on yourself by not cooperating. You’ll have to leave in about three weeks, and we can’t change that. The best thing we can do is arrange something so we can stay together and support each other.’

John blinked, then finally spoke. ‘But what if you won’t be allowed to leave?’

‘Then I want to make sure you’ll be in the best place possible until I’ll be dismissed. And that place is going to be at my parents’ house. Please, John, give this a chance. I know you’re nervous, and you don’t want things to change, but things will change, and we’re gonna have to deal with that in the best way possible.’ Brian’s voice was a bit more insistent than he would have liked for it to be, but it at last seemed to have an effect on John.

‘Promise me you won’t leave me alone in there,’ John whispered - pleaded, nearly.

‘I promise. You just have to say the word to let me know you’re no comfortable. And you don’t have to answer any questions you don’t want to answer, in case anyone might ask them,’ Brian vowed. ‘Come with me?’ he asked. He stretched his hand towards John again, and this time John took it.

John was still visibly nervous - the smile he gave Nolan when they came face to face with him in the hallway looked tensed rather than sincere, and he kept his head down as they walked through the hallways, past the canteen and the staff rooms and into the corridor leading to the visiting area. Brian had only been to the place a few times before, but he remained uneasy each time a guard opened the multiple barred doors they crossed on their way.

‘Your parents have already arrived, I’ve been told,’ Nolan said to Brian. ‘They’ve also signed the paperwork in which they vow to take in John and you, or just John in case of- well, in that case,’ Nolan cut himself off when Brian shot him a look. Brian was glad that his mentor understood the hint - right as John was heading for the meeting he’d been dreading since the very moment it had been planned was not exactly the right moment to bring up all that could still go wrong in Brian’s process. The string of meetings with Professor Fisher, the independent psychiatrists who had been assigned to supervise the case and oversee Brian’s ability to return to society, had gone well, and the professor had given his blessing to Brian’s appeal. It had been a victory for Brian and all those around him - apart from John. Every time an obstacle was removed from Brian’s path towards accelerated freedom, all John seemed to be able to see were the new mountains showing up on the way.

To some extent, John had a point. Even though he had managed to push his appeal for freedom past the internal staff of Queen Mary’s and an outsider in the form of a psychiatrist, Brian had no guarantees that the eventual jury he’d have to beat up to would grant him leave. Especially the presence of his former psychiatrist Doctor Sumner did not sit comfortably with him, but he refused to let this prospect weigh him down; he had a task in front of him, and he was going to give it all he could. Nothing, not John’s negativity nor his own nerves, and most of all not Doctor Sumner’s preening eyes and tight-lipped smile were going to hold him back.

Nolan babbled on about the contact he’d had with Brian’s parents over the phone - something Brian had been unaware of, and something he did not know whether to appreciate or to be wary of - but it was only when they reached the last door that separated the three of them from his parents that Brian really felt his attention resurfacing to the presence. The guard who had walked them all the way over searched their pockets for forbidden items and had a small fit over the shaving cream bottle cap Brian had forgotten he’d put in his back pocket that morning for no particular reason other than not knowing where to leave it as he was shaving. Nolan managed to convince the guy that it was nothing, so the item was confiscated and they were given leave to enter the heavy iron door.

‘Alright, folks. Are you ready?’ Nolan asked with his usual upbeat expression on his face as he stepped over the threshold of the door. Brian was ready to do the same, but one look at John was all he needed to know that John needed a few more words of encouragement.

‘One second, Nole,’ Brian said, not realising he just called his mentor by the nickname Freddie sometimes used to refer to him in private. He stepped into the direction of John, who was still standing next to the guard - and who slipped back a few steps when Brian approached him.

‘John…’ Brian said quietly.

‘I- I can’t do this,’ John told him. ‘I need more time. I can’t do this now.’

‘But there isn’t more time,’ Brian said. Then, stepping close quickly enough to make it impossible for John to back away from him any further, he placed his hands on either of his boyfriend’s shoulders and said: ‘Listen, John. I wish I could give you all the time in the world, but we don’t have that luxury. We have to step up now to make the best out of the situation; we’ll regret it if we let Queen Mary’s rehabilitation services figure out our future for us,’ Brian said. ‘And I know you think you’re expected to go out there and put on your brightest smile and act like the perfect foster child or whatever for my parents to take you into their house, but you don’t. You don’t have to live up to any expectations. You don’t have to be perfectly sociable and nice - it’s not a competition where the winner takes it all and the loser is left behind. There is no losing here, you see?’ Brian took a second to take a break from his monologue, but picked it up again before John could disagree with him. ‘You’re going to get out of his Godawful place and move into a home where people will care for you, regardless of whether I’ll be released right away or a few months later. My parents already signed the papers and they promised to take you in and take care of you for as long as needed. And you don’t have to worry about them liking you or not, because they will.’

John had remained perfectly blank throughout the soliloquy, but he snorted at those last words. ‘They won’t. I’m a disappointment.’

‘You’re perfect and they’re gonna love you. You’re smart and funny and polite - if you choose to be so - and perfect company. My parents have always wanted to have a second child, and getting one at the age of twenty doesn’t mean they’ll be any less enthusiastic,’ Brian said with a little smile, and he could see that John’s face copied his despite his lover trying to look away from him. ‘And as for you… You could do with a family after all these years. A real family.’

At the mentioning of these words, John turned his face away from him even further, but this did not prevent Brian from seeing that tears were brimming his eyes. The idea of having a family, a house to come home to every night, a space where he did not have to feel like an outsider, a burden, an unwanted alien - Brian could tell that it touched John, and he knew that this was the right moment to usher him through the door before either of them could think better of it.

‘Come on. Let’s go in,’ Brian whispered with a soft yet steady hand on the small of John’s back. He heard John smother a sob and saw him wipe the back of his hand across his eyes, but once this had been taken care of, he allowed Brian to gently usher him towards the door through which Nolan had just disappeared. John halted for a second when they neared the threshold - his hand seemed to be seeking Brian’s, and the guitarist placed his hand on John’s and squeezed it shortly.

‘I’m right here with you.’

‘I know,’ John whispered. With that, he stepped over the threshold; Brian followed him, and then the guard closed the iron door behind them, leaving no way back until the end of the meeting. It was a thought that Brian knew should freak John out, but personally he was rather relieved to know that there was no other way for John than to follow him to his parents.

The meeting room seemed a lot larger than the last time to Brian - which was probably at least partially to blame to the fact that it had been filled with patients and their family members and at least a handful of guards and other supervisors the few times he’d visited so far. This time, however, his eyes darted around the room without seeing more than a single guard flicking through a leaflet in the corner of the room. There was one single occupied table at the other end of the room, towards which Nolan was currently making his way. He could make out the figures of his parents, who were standing up from their chairs as the stranger approached them. He could see his mum shove her handbag into her husband’s hands as the mentor reached a hand towards her.

‘Good morning, folks!’ Brian could hear Nolan say with a perfect mixture of politeness and informality. ‘I’m Nolan Ferrier - we’ve spoken on the phone.’ Brian watched as first his mother’s and then his father’s hand was pulled into a strong handshake from Nolan’s side. They seemed to share a few more quiet words, and Brian suddenly realised that Jon and he had not moved on any further than perhaps three feet away from the door.

‘Come, let’s go over there. I’ll go first.’ Without awaiting John’s reply as to avoid giving him the opportunity to protest, Brian walked past the first row of empty tables. He heard the sound of John’s shoes clicking on the floor behind him confirming that his partner was following him. He then changed his walking pace to a more rapid one - he did not want to waste any time that could be used for coming to agreements for when either John came to live with them, either on his own or with him straight away.

The second his parents caught sight of him, the polite discussion of some sort they had been following with Nolan was wrapped up; hands were detached and excuses were made, and they turned to walk into his direction. He could hear his mother call his name - first softly, then louder - and his smile brightened. He hadn’t seen his parents since the last family visit, which had been at least three weeks ago at least. Their enthusiasm for seeing him, however, never seemed to subside; they were as happy and emotional as they came to him now as they had been the very first time they’d been granted entrance into the visiting room of Queen Mary’s to come see their son. Brian could already hear his mother’s first sobs before they had even gotten towards each other, although it was only a second or so later that they met in the middle. Brian was caught in the surprisingly strong grip of his mother’s arms, followed by those of his father. Being embraced by his parents always felt so secure, so safe - it was like coming home regardless of how far away he was from his paternal house.

‘Oh, Brian, my love! How are you?’ The voice of his mother was high and shrill so close to his ear, but it did not seem to Brian that this was an appropriate moment to say something about it.

‘I’m fine, mum. You know you don’t have to worry about me,’ he mumbled against the shoulder of his father. This time there were no guards telling them to break up and sit down - just the three of them getting a moment to express their love for each other through touch rather than through words. Not that that stopped Brian’s mother from blabbering on, though…

‘But you know I do,’ his mother sighed. ‘A reassessment! I didn’t even know what it was! Or that it was possible! And that you were already working on it-‘

‘Don’t wind yourself up too much, dear,’ Harold interrupted the stream of words flowing from his wife’s mouth. ‘Mister Ferrier will tell us all about it in a moment, I’m sure.’

Brian opened his eyes at the mentioning of his mentor, whom he had completely ignored since the moment he had met eyes with his parents. Much to his relief he saw Nolan smiling at him lazily, but the same, he assumed, could not be said about John. His boyfriend, who remained standing a few feet behind him, could hardly be comfortable around the family scene he was currently witnessing. Brian thus pulled himself away from the arms of his parents, and took a step back to line up next to the person he’d momentarily neglected.

‘Mum, Dad, this is John, my friend and roommate.’ Brian felt himself beam with pride as he introduced the boy around whom he’d centred his life for the past few months, and his parents seemed equally eager to meet him and exchange some words with the person their son had been unable to shut up about lately.

‘Oh, John! How good to finally meet you!’ his mother all but cooed, extending a hand towards him. ‘I’m Ruth May - Brian’s mother.’ John followed her example and shook hands with her and introduced himself somewhat awkwardly.

‘Er, it’s great to see you too. I’m John Deacon.’ He forced a small smile and withdrew his hand as quickly as possible; Brian hoped his mum would take no offence. He had told them during their last phone call that John was incredibly nervous - and that his antisocial personality disorder meant that he was not one to enjoy himself in social situations - so that they should be a bit lenient on him. Knowing his parents, they would behave just so; but Brian did feel that a lot of questions concerning John would be coming up as soon as his boyfriend would be out of their sight, especially when his father took his turn to introduce himself.

‘John, I’m Harold May,’ Brian’s father told him as he took John’s hand in his own. ‘We’ve heard a lot about you.’

Brian saw the smile wash off John’s face. ‘Is that an, uh, good or a bad sign?’ he asked with a renewed fake smile and a hint of humour, but Brian knew that it was really the joke which John tried to play it off yet. His mother laughed her typical, high-pitched laugh, and said she loved his humour, and his father was chuckling still when he disclaimed it had been a pretty good picture that had been painted of him by their son. Neither of this worked, though - and it was only when Brian put an arm around him that his tensed body relaxed a little.

‘A good sign, Deaky. Do you think I’d tell them bad stories about you? Do you think I even have bad stories to tell about you?’

John looked at him thoroughly at first, as if he was deciding whether Brian was playing with him or not, but eventually the slightest of a smile broke through. The somewhat awkward silence, however, by then had already prompted Nolan to speak up.

‘Shall we sit down and go over the arrangements? We’ve got quite a bit to discuss.’

John seemed to be most enthusiastic about following Nolan’s proposal. He agreed whole-heartedly and paced towards the table on which Brian’s parents had been sitting before. Nolan, who - as usual - seemed to sense exactly what he was feeling, made sure to sit next to him on the one side, and made Brian sit down on the other. Harold and Ruth sat across from them and waited for Nolan to bring out the papers he’d brought with him in a dark red folder with Brian’s name and patient number printed on the front. Brian saw John getting fidgety with the hem of his shirt while Nolan looked for the right papers, and placed a hand on John’s leg underneath the table.

‘Alright,’ Nolan eventually declared when he’d found the papers he had been looking for, and closed the folder to put it aside. ‘What we’re here for today is to go over the agreements which have been made for John’s rehabilitation into society, and that of Brian in case that his reassessment will be approved. I’m first just going to go through some formalities,’ Nolan announced. ‘Is it correct that you are Harold and Ruth May, parents of Brian May?’

‘Correct,’ Harold said.

‘So far so good,’ Nolan smiled. ‘And you were the ones who applied for your son to be admitted into Queen Mary’s Psychiatric Hospital, together with his psychiatrist Doctor L. J. Sumner?’ Brian felt his stomach turn at the mere mention of the name of his previous psychiatrist, but he buckled up for the sake of everyone around him. His father once again confirmed, together with the date on which they had filled out the application and the date of approval.

‘Then, according to this file right here…’ Nolan’s voice trailed down near the end of the sentence as he searched for the right paper. ‘Ah, here. According to this, you handed Brian over to the care of Queen Mary’s on March fifteen, nineteen seventy-one, by bringing him over and seeing to it that he was taken in.’

‘Yes. Wasn’t it you that took him in?’ Ruth asked. Nolan nodded with a small smile.

‘It was. It’s just that the protocol tells me to have you confirm all these details - because, as the next point tells me, you volunteered and were approved to take Brian back under your roof and carry parental responsibility for his well-being and further recovery when he would be released from Queen Mary’s?’

‘We are. And we still stand by that,’ said Harold, which preceded the next question Nolan was to read out loud. They were reminded of what it meant to be the guardians of Brian in a mental health context, and of which people to inform and turn to in case things went downhill again. That, if Brian had a fallback, he could be reported and taken back into Queen Mary’s, but that this would first need investigation, and could not happen overnight. This point seemed to make his mother more than just a little nervous - but, upon Brian ensuring her that chances of this happening were small, and Nolan telling her that help would always be available in case of acute danger, she eventually agreed. A few more such questions were answered and considered before Nolan placed down the papers and started looking for another set.

‘Now, as we all know, these arrangements will be critical in case Brian gets released after his reassessment trial. We cannot guarantee when or if that will happen, but what we do know is that John will be released in three weeks,’ Nolan said, and Brian saw John’s jaw clenching. The soothing hand stroking John’s leg seemed to be able to do little to soothe him when Nolan spoke on. ‘John Richard Deacon, taken in on September three, nineteen sixty-nine at age eighteen, after his foster guardians Alec Baldwin and Molly Baldwin-Forester signed him up to be taken into Queen Mary’s when they could no longer deal with his mental problems.’

‘Foster guardians?’ Ruth sounded surprised, if not a little afraid. Nolan looked at John as to find out whether he was allowed to tell them what happened, or if he should tell them that John would tell them later. Brian remembered having told his parents at one point during this past week’s phone calls and conversations that John could not return to the aunt and uncle with whom he had lived before being taken into Queen Mary’s, but he was afraid that his mother at the moment failed to see that the foster guardians which Nolan referred to were nothing more than John’s aunt and uncle. He knew the official documents referred to them as his foster guardians, but he understood how different, how dramatic this sounded - as if John had been a problematic child who had gone through multiple sets of foster parents over the years, the last pair of which had sent him away to a mental institution. It was far from the truth, but Brian could hardly blame his parents for getting an idea like this in their head.

To his utter surprise, John hardly blinked when he offered an explanation to Brian’s parents. ‘I was taken in by my aunt and uncle after my mum could no longer combine the care of my disabled sister with taking care of me,’ he said, which Brian had to admit was not a lie - just a very polished version of what he had actually gone through with his entire family locking him out. Brian could not blame him, though, for John only telling part of the truth to his parents. He doubted he would have been able to disclose more about his terrific past to a pair of strangers upon first meeting them - especially in John’s current state of being.

‘Disabled sister-’ Brian heard his father mumble, but he effectively managed to shut him up by giving the man, who was sitting across from him at the table, a light kick against the shin. His father’s face retorted, but he did not protest; he seemed to understand that this was not the right time or place to discuss the ins and outs of John’s life. Besides, Brian had clearly instructed them not to pry into John’s personal business; he would tell them what he wanted them to know as soon as he felt comfortable around them.

Nolan, like the hero he was, continued his story. ‘Alec and Molly Baldwin thus handed John over to the care of Queen Mary’s, but while our staff has reached out to them to tell them their nephew will soon be released and to ask them if they are willing to take him in again, they have declined their responsibility, and do not wish to be involved in backing John up in his rehabilitation process whatsoever, as they stated in a formal letter we received the other day.’ A light brown envelope was brought up and put in the middle of the table. Four pairs of eyes stared at it, but no one seemed to dare make a move or say a word. ‘John’s mother has also been informed, but she- she declared herself to be unfit of taking care of John again, referring to- her daily task of taking care of-’

‘Of my sister, yes. I expected so,’ John finished the sentence of Nolan, of whom both Brian and he was currently making up a more socially acceptable answer to refuse to take in a son again than what she really had told the staff upon being contacted. Brian wondered if she had yelled, if she had cursed her son, if she had laughed viciously and asked if they were out of their mind to ask her to take back the person who she deemed the one to have ruined her life. Brian guessed he would never know, and perhaps it was better like that - especially if John would also be spared from the probably /scalding/ reply his mother had made to the request.

‘Your sister, yes. Your mother sees herself currently unfit to combine, eh, her care with that of you,’ Nolan said. ‘Other family members we unfortunately could not reach. So that…’ he stressed while looking at the couple sitting across from him, ‘is where the pair of you come in’.

Silence for a moment while Ruth and Harold looked at each other. Brian could see the doubt and uncertainty in their eyes. He realised he had sort of convinced them overnight to have both him and his secret boyfriend come back to live under the same roof as them over the past few days; after all, there had not been more than about a week between the first moment he had rung them to tell them about his plans of getting a reassessment, and this meeting which had been scheduled last-minute as his psychiatrist had approved him for the first round of his trial. He knew his parents were hesitant people in general, and the fact that they both did not know John and that they realised he suffered from mental problems wasn’t making it easy on them. Learning now that he came from a troubled family background also wasn’t making matters any less complicated for his parents, but Brian refused to let their fear of the unknown ruin his opportunity to escape Queen Mary’s with John - and, much more importantly, John’s chances of a stable future to make up for all the pain he had gone through in the past decade.

‘Yes. Mum and Dad are willing to take in both John and me when we are released,’ Brian said in what he liked to consider a helping hand, but which his parents obviously had a different opinion about.

‘We- yes. We are certainly willing,’ his father said, straightening his tie. ‘But, er, there are certain… uncertainties that will need to be clarified first.’

‘Of course,’ Nolan said in the most understanding of tones. ‘Of course. We have come to understand that, as far as we have been informed, you have no experience with caring for foster children - foster patients, in this case,’ Nolan said. Brian hated the word foster patient already.

‘Exactly.’ Ruth shook her head vehemently, glad that Nolan understood they had reservations about the case now that everything was starting to get so real so quickly. ‘We have no prior experience with taking people in, and especially not young people.’

‘You’ve dealt with me for twenty-four years,’ Brian reminded them, but this unfortunately was not what they meant.

‘Of course it feels strange to let someone into your house at first - especially when it is someone you are not related to,’ Nolan admitted. ‘But experience leans that guardians and subjects, as they are commonly referred to, usually get into a good flow quickly, and can grow tight bonds.’

‘I see,’ Ruth said, obviously still doubting. Brian chewed on the inside of his cheek.

‘You do not have to worry about finances either - as John is under twenty-one, one can appeal to the state for subvention. After he turns twenty-one, you can still get subvention for taking care of someone with mental health issues. We can help you fill out the application,’ Nolan said in what seemed like another attempt to convince Harold and Ruth not to come back on their promise to take John in. Brian appreciated it, but unfortunately his parents did not take the bait.

‘Oh, the finances I’m not too worried about. But is there any sort of - aftercare after Queen Mary’s?’ Ruth asked. ‘To make sure John won’t… slip back into old habits?’ Brian was not entirely pleased about his mother using the word habits when referring to John’s depression and anti-social spells, but he was given no time to protest.

‘Naturally,’ Nolan assured her. ‘Queen Mary’s has an extensive programme, which consists of weekly meetups with either a patient’s psychiatrist before coming here, during their stay, or one that specifically works in our aftercare programme. Furthermore every ex-patient will also enroll in a programme to help them either find a job or go back to school, and help them build up their future.’

‘I would love to go back to college,’ John broke in shyly but confidently. ‘I want to finish my studies. I used to do electrical engineering at Chelsea College in London. It’s a- uh, College of Advanced Technology. Known as one of the best around the country,’ John said in what sounded to Brian like a helpless plead to make himself desirable to his parents. Brian felt a knot form in his stomach by merely listening to it - it was disheartening that his parents were being so distant and doubtful all of a sudden, especially right in John’s face. John, the person he loved with all his heart; the person who deserved the world and more, especially after continuously having been held down from it. The person for whom Brian hoped for a good ending to this entire mental health drama more than he did for himself or anyone else in the world. Seeing him being denied by his parents was one of the most painful things he had ever witnessed, and he had gone through quite some disheartening situations at Queen Mary’s.

Harold, either not seeing or ignoring his son’s deadly glares, nodded slowly. ‘Electrical engineering. A fine subject. You’ll never be out of work with a solid degree like that.’

‘Absolutely,’ Nolan agreed. ‘It will give him something to focus on - make sure he keeps himself busy. Studies show that people recovering from mental illness are three times more successful when they have a job or studies to focus on.’

‘I can also find a weekend job on top of that,’ John offered. ‘So you won’t have me hanging around the house, you know.’

‘Oh, that is not- not at all what we’re worried about, John,’ Harold said. Then, clearing his throat, he finally said the thing Brian had been fearing for the entire meeting. Putting his hand on that of his wife’s, he brought up to Nolan: ‘An issue I feel that my wife and I are currently facing, is that we are not… we are not mental health experts. We were not trained to deal with depression, and borderline, and-‘ he paused for a second as he looked at John, and eventually concluded his sentence with the words: -‘similar issues.’

‘Dad!’ Brian hissed at him, but this only made matters worse.

‘Your father is right, dear,’ his mother intervened. ‘We do not know how to deal with mental health issues. We don’t know John and his… his mental situation, or how to deal with it. You know what happened when you were at your worst…’

‘But he’s not at his worst anymore, and neither am I. John is being released because he’s doing so well,’ Brian said - which was not entirely the truth, but which he decided his parents did not need to know that it was either being let go of or getting locked up into long-stay facilities - ‘and I am the first person to qualify for a reassessment in years. Right, Nolan?’ Brian said, turning to his mentor sharply. ‘Right?’

‘Er, yes,’ Nolan said, clearly taken aback somewhat by Brian’s sudden fierceness. ‘You are the first in years to qualify, and John is doing well enough to leave Queen Mary’s.’ Again, this was only technically the truth, but Brian was grateful to his mentor for helping both John and Him. Nolan probably realised just as well as he did that this was the best chance John had to make a head start and not to end up in some shabby rehabilitation home and programme focussed on substance abusers and victims of domestic violence rather than on his antisocial personality disorder, and have his life spiral down even further than it had before.

‘See? There will be no problem, Dad. I promise,’ Brian said with as much confidence he could muster.

‘I am sure that John will behave well, and that chances of problems arising will be slim,’ his father tried to hush him. ‘But his - what was it, asocial personality?’

‘Antisocial personality disorder,’ Brian grumbled.

‘His antisocial personality - I fear it works just like your depression and borderline. Things can go well for a while, but when you had fallbacks, we could do absolutely nothing to help you. You were either unattainable, or overly emotional, or unreasonably angry and depressed - and that was just borderline, as to say so. What if John ends up in one of his antisocial spells? What are we supposed to do with that?’

‘You will be given guidance prior to taking John in, mister May,’ Nolan tried, but Brian was not as calm as his mentor was.

‘Then you leave him be! He’ll manage, and he’ll come back to himself in due time! Being antisocial in essence just means having moments of not wanting to interact with anyone and wanting to be left alone - a whole lot easier than dealing with my troubles, let me tell you.’

‘Brian…’ John called his name carefully.

‘We understand, dear,’ Ruth said. ‘But we know you - we know what to expect of you.’

‘Yes, you knew what to expect,’ Brian said dryly. ‘That’s why you sent me away to Queen Mary’s, right? Because you knew exactly how to handle me.’

‘Brian.’ His name was called again, but this time in a more threatening fashion, coming from his father. ‘You’re our child - we’ve known you all your life. We do not know John, do not know his illness, his family, his background, his life story…’

‘So that’s a reason not to take him in and help him? Because you can’t verify that his parents are a decent middle-class couple with a husband working nine-to-five-hours at a company of national importance, and a happy housewife who has dinner ready at precisely six o’clock each day?’

‘Of course not,’ Harold objected. ‘You’re being ridiculous now.’

‘No, you’re being ridiculous!’ Brian said. He could hear Nolan telling him not to talk to his parents like that, but could not move himself to care about what anyone thought of him telling his parents some home truths. ‘You promised to help John, to take him in and give him a chance! And if you care to know his background so much - John came from a perfectly fine family, including nine-to-five job holder and happy housewife, until his parents lost a son, his sister was left severely disabled after an accident, and within the same year, his father died. Are you happy now?’

Brian could hear John take in a sharp breath of air beside him, and somewhere deep inside, he felt bad for having told half of history so casually to his parents for the sake of making a case against their hesitation to take someone they didn’t know under their wing. However, his frustration and determination to fulfil John’s promise of letting him move in with his family and building a stable background where he would be loved, accepted, part of a larger community, left him unable o do much more than put his hand on John’s shoulder and staring at his parents with cold eyes.

Harold was the first to break the silence when he coughed and shifted in his chair. Turning to Nolan, he said: ‘Gentlemen, could you give us a moment? A word between my wife and me and our son?’

‘Most certainly,’ said Nolan, who seemed almost eager to remove himself and John from the battlefield the discussion had turned into. ‘John and I will be just around the door. Call us when you need us again - because, and I don’t want to put pressure on anyone, but the papers will have to be signed today. Both to strengthen Brian’s case for his reassessment, and for John - because if he cannot stay with your family, our staff will have to arrange a place for him in a communal home.’

Brian could feel John’s eyes turning to him, wild and panicky, and he had to count to three before allowing himself to look at John out of fear that he might either start crying or start yelling if he did so right away. He was hurt, frustrated, angry, humiliated, betrayed - all of those both on his own account but mostly on that of John, who he had promised that he’d be allowed to live with his family upon being released from Queen Mary’s. His parents had promised him so, after all. They had been inviting and understanding and tolerant when speaking of the matter mere days ago, but now that things were starting to get real, they seemed to be getting cold feet. It made Brian feel sick and disgusted - it made him feel ashamed of being their son.

‘It’s okay,’ he gritted when he eventually gathered the self-control to calmly look John in the eyes. ‘I’ll fix this, I promise.’

The legs of Nolan’s chair scraped along the floor when he stood up. ‘You coming, John? I think the May family needs some time to discuss.’

John looked at Brian with a sense of desperation, but nodded stiffly and stood up also. Brian put his hand on John’s briefly in passing, but John did not look up; he simply followed Nolan towards the exit of the room, leaving Brian with a taste of bitterness in his mouth and the feeling of his cold, thin fingers on his own.

Brian found himself curling the fingers of his right hand into a fist, and tensed them until the knuckles grew white and the back of his hand pale and veiny. He stared at it in a determined mission to avoid any sort of contact with his parents until the heavy iron door of the visiting hall fell shut behind John and Nolan.

His father was the first to talk between the three of them. ‘Look, Brian, we understand that you’re angry, but we need some time to process everything we’ve been told today,’ Harold said. ‘It’s not nothing to take in someone new, and to be responsible for them and live with them under the same roof for the upcoming God knows how long.’ Brian knew his father was looking straight at him as he spoke, but he refused to look back or acknowledge his presence in any other way.

‘Besides, what do we know about his condition? What if his anti… antisocial behaviour comes up again when he lives with us? Or worse, perhaps, if his trauma comes up?’ Despite himself, Brian looked up to face his mother as she mentioned the word trauma. He immediately regretted it as it seemed to give her the idea that she had made a point she ought to elaborate. ‘Everything we heard today about his father’s death, his sister’s disability, living with his aunt and uncle until they sent him away… It’s a lot to carry. Both for him and for us.’

Brian leaned back in his chair when his mother had finished her part of the monologue. So that’s what they were afraid of - that John would bring his trauma, his troubles, his history, into their lives. That having to live with someone who’d gone through a rough childhood would be hard on them, and not on the person who actually had to pick up his life again after having taken such a terrible start to it. It hardly surprised Brian to hear that his parents, two painfully average lower-middle-class citizens leading a painfully average life in their painfully average semi-detached suburban three bedroom-house, were opposed to take someone in from a less fortunate background out of fear that it would inconvenience their perfectly shallow little lives. It was shallow and embarrassing, and Brian did not have the words to properly tell his parents what he thought about their attitude.

‘So that’s what you want, then?’ he eventually ended up saying after having chewed the inside of his cheek raw. ‘To break your promise and have John be sent off to a bloody communal home? My best friend, with whom I’ve spent the past half a year here? An anxious twenty-year-old with a traumatic family background and the remains of a depression, living with a bunch of crackheads in a filthy communal home in East End London?’

‘We never promised-’ his father calmly intervened, but he was interrupted just as quickly as he had taken the floor.

‘But you did!’ Brian said, voice louder now. ‘You said you’d take both of us in, or him first and then me if I wouldn’t be released after this fucking trial, and allow us to build up a life again until we could stand on our own two feet! You promised!’ He was close to tears now - tears of anger and frustration and sheer humiliation that these liars called themselves his parents. The two people across the table shared a look that Brian couldn’t quite make out with his blurry tearstained view, but he knew they realised he was not going to take this breach of trust sitting down.

‘I know, Brian,’ his father eventually said. ‘I know we did that. But that was before we knew the circumstances.’

Brian huffed out a laugh despite himself. ‘Circumstances? I told you about John, and his antisocial personality disorder, and that his sister was disabled, his father was dead, and that he used to live with his aunt and uncle before being sent here! You knew that all along, half of this even before there was even talk of either him or me being released. And now you’re changing your mind because of it? I’m calling bullshit.’

‘Brian!’

The person addressed ignored his mother’s admonitory calling of his name. ‘It’s bullshit. You’re just using it against John because you’re too lame to help him. To help us! I thought you cared about me!’ Brian realised that especially this last sentence was a petty low shot, but he was willing to steep down to whatever level it took to either convince, threaten, or sabotage his parents into letting John come home with him as they had promised him.

‘It’s not that easy, Brian. It’s just- it’s very hard to take someone you’ve only known from stories, with a troubled background, into your house and just see what happens,’ Harold said. ‘Your mother and I have had a very rough time while you were away. We don’t know if we could handle having someone else in our house right now. Besides you, of course,’ was added quickly - something Brian didn’t know made matters better or worse.

‘Oh, yes. I’m sure it’s been very hard on you,’ Brian said cynically, crossing his arms over his chest. ‘It must have been very hard, sitting around at home living your normal life while we tried to survive at Queen Mary’s. Saw people drugging themselves down at the daily. Fights in the canteen and people ending up at the infirmary with broken bones. Someone knocked John to the floor and tried to stab my eye out. Someone was murdered while we were in there, Goddamnit, and you talk about having had a hard time because you didn’t have someone to share boring stories about your nine to five job or the coffee visit to the neighbours with during dinnertime!’ Brian realised he was shouting now, and saw the guard stepping a few steps closer to their table from the corner of his eyes. He wondered if Nolan and John could hear him from the other side, but eventually decided that the iron walls and doors probably had been designed so as to not let through any noise. He did not particularly care so much about Nolan or the guards outside the visiting hall overhearing him, but he’d rather not upset John by having him hear his lack of emotional control in the given situation.

‘They tried- your eye? Someone was murdered?’

Brian should have known that breaking the news of the recent gang wars, the almost daily injuries, and Jimmy’s death-bordering-on-murder to his parents would not be something they’d take lightly. They of course expected their son to be safe at Queen Mary’s; this had been the entire reason they had sent him there rather than keeping him at home to see where his mental problems would take him. However, as he was in the mood to shock and make a statement rather than to comfort his parents about his safety at Queen Mary’s, he raised his voice again.

‘Yes, that’s the place you sent me off to! That’s the place I’ll have to stay in for even longer if they won’t let me go. That’s where’s John’s been in for two years, and the place you’ll send him off to again if you let him be taken into a fucking council house full of drug addicts and criminals and other people he shouldn’t have to deal with! Because unlike me,’ Brian breathed with an index finger prodding into his own chest, ‘unlike me, he doesn’t have a backup plan, or family to take him in! He’ll be left to the government, or a resocialisation programme for criminals and other freaks he doesn’t belong to, or simply to- to the streets!’ Brian could hear his own voice faltering and eventually breaking, so he cut himself off before real cracks would appear in either his voice or his iron facial expression. He knew that Nolan had spoken of a rehabilitation plan hosted by Queen Mary’s, but what this really meant was that people who did not have any family, were disowned by them, or did not want to return to them, were sent to join resocialisation programmes that hardly ever tailored to people recovering from mental illness. They often ended up addicted to drugs, in prison for dealing or robbery, or worse than that. It made his heart ache to even think of the possibility that John might be exposed to scenes like those if he would not be given a proper foundation upon leaving Queen Mary’s - a foundation it seemed that, for the lack of connections and resources of his own, only Brian’s family could provide at the moment.

‘Oh, darling…’

A tissue, produced from his mother’s handbag, was pushed over to his side of the table. Brian hadn’t previously noticed that he had been crying, but moving the back of his hand over his right cheek once proved that he indeed had been doing to. He grabbed the tissue and pressed it against his eyes in an attempt to smother his tears - without much luck, that was. They kept coming and coming and wouldn’t stop, and Brian had no other choice than to give in to them,

‘Brian, my darling...’ The familiar voice of his mother was soft and soothing, but it did not give him any comfort - and neither did the words she spoke, even though Brian knew they were meant to bring him peace of mind. ‘We’ll find a way, okay? I promise we’ll find a way.’

‘What if I was in his place?’ Brian then asked, crumpling the soaked tissue into a ball in his hand. ‘If you- you couldn’t take care of me because you w-were occupied or dead, wouldn’t you want someone else to take me in to recover?’ he asked, now looking directly at his parents with eyes blurred with tears. ‘Or would you rather have me discarded to the streets and venture for- for myself? Would you?’

‘We wouldn’t,’ his father said. ‘Of course we wouldn’t. We’ll work this out, Brian,’ he said, but the words didn’t quite land on Brian, who was so far gone into the image of John being expulsed from any sort of society and having to roam the streets at night to find a place to sleep, that the words of his parents didn’t reach him any longer.

‘John is so sweet and good-natured and… and he deserves better than this. So much better than this. Please, you have- you have to help him!’ Sobs now properly overtook Brian’s body, and he rested his face on his hands on the table top. Sounds of chairs scratching the floor and heels clicking on the tiles approached, and then there was an arm around his shoulders and a hand stroking his hair and indistinguishable voices soothing him. It was as if he was five years old again and had screamed for his parents with all of his might after waking up from a dreadful nightmare. He was unsure whether it was a comfort or plain sadness that his parents still came running towards him to soothe him, but it at least felt good to have them at his side again instead of just having them look at him from a distance and staring at him with that weird, empty glance, trying to figure out what on earth was going on in his mind.

‘It’s okay; everything will be okay.’ His mother stroked his cheek, and Brian thought he felt her press a kiss against his unruly hair. ‘We’re gonna help John. He’s- we’re going to take him in.’

We’re going to take him in. Brian looked up at his mother through teary eyes when these words, the ones that had once been promised and then denied him again, were spoken. Like a magic spell, he was drawn to them, and through a choked sob he whispered: ‘Really?’

His mother exchanged glanced with his dad first, but then pulled away her glance from that of her husband and nodded. ‘Really. We made a promise, after all.’

Brian felt a wave of relief flooding through his veins; one that allowed the muscles throughout his entire body to unclench and his mind to untangle. ‘Thank- thank you,’ he managed to squeak out. His mother smiled a sad smile - one not so much of happiness but one of acceptance - and stepped away from Brian. His father followed her example.

‘Come, dry your tears and come down to yourself,’ she said while handing him another tissue. Surprisingly enough, it was actually feasible for Brian to carry out these instructions now that he had been comforted about the fate of his partner. He wiped his face clean of tears, and by the time he was able to stifle most of the last remaining sobs, he could look his parents in the eyes again.

‘So you promise you’ll let John in? And you… won’t come back on it again?’ Brian asked, just to be sure. After all, he had been let down once before, and he did not know if he could take it to have all of his hopes shatter just like that again.

‘We promise for real this time,’ his father answered without skipping a beat, which Brian took as a good sign. ‘Your mother and I are just overwhelmed, is all. Within a week we got to hear that you would be going for a reassessment, that you wanted to have your new best friend move in with us because he can’t go home, then all these people called us and we received forms to fill out through the mail concerning our responsibilities when you’d be released and all the people and institutes we’d have to be in touch with still… So we just…. Went with it all hoping to be able to talk things over today, but we arrive in a storm of more papers and receptionists and mentors telling us to sign more documents, and then there’s John with this- excuse my languages but… problematic background, and I think we just- didn’t know how to handle it anymore.’

‘But then you should have said so. You should have told Nolan and us you needed more explanation or more time or more guidance, instead of taking ten steps back and breaking your promise to John and me. I haven’t seen him so- so hurt in a long time,’ Brian said. His saliva felt heavy and tough when he swallowed. ‘I told you how nervous John was to meet you over the phone just the other day. I spent a week to convince him to even come along to this meeting; he was too afraid to say or do something that would make you reject him. And then you go and… attack him and push him away for the reasons he can help least? His trauma following the death of his father, and the accident of his sister? His having to live with family because his mum couldn’t take care of him anymore in the depth of his depression? That was- that was plain low, dad. And you too, mum. Really, really low.’

It was only when Brian had uttered this entire soliloquy that he realised when he had said - and he immediately regretted it, despite having meant every single word of it. He knew his parents were not going to take kindly to being lectured by him about what they should and what they shouldn’t do. However, just as he expected to be told off for reprimanding his parents for behaving the way they did, the glance of his father’s face softened.

‘You are right. We were wrong to treat John like that,’ Harold said. Not seeming to know what he was to say afterward, he turned to his wife for support.

‘We will say sorry to John in a minute. I hope we can make him feel welcome still,’ Ruth told Brian, who nodded slowly, thankfully, at his parents.

‘Thank you,’ he whispered. ‘That means a lot to the both of us.’

‘It’s just… I know it’s no excuse, and I know that Queen Mary’s must have been a lot harder for you than it was for us,’ his father acknowledged. ‘But I think I speak for both your mum and myself when I say that I’ve been lying awake during the last few nights, wondering if this is really what you want.’

Brian frowned. ‘Whether what is what I want?’

‘This… all of this. To leave Queen Mary’s before your time’s due,’ his dad said.

‘My time is due,’ Brian said with some insistence. ‘I go where John goes, and he goes where I go.’

‘I know,’ his father said. ‘I know- and that’s what I’ve been worried about. That you’re not thinking about your own sanity and well-being, but about John’s only. You understand me?’

‘I do, but-’

‘Doctor Sumner worked hard to give you a spot here at Queen Mary’s, and despite the… circumstances we’ve heard about, we know that trained people do all they can,’ his mother interrupted. ‘Are you sure you want to put all of that aside?’

‘Absolutely positive,’ Brian answered. ‘I’d put everything aside for John - and not just because I… care about him so much, but because I know John is the best help I could possibly have.’

‘But what about your therapy, then?’ his mum asked.

‘He is a better help to me than any of the therapists I’ve spoken to so far, and any therapist I will ever meet in my life,’ Brian said. His father opened his mouth as to say something, but Brian held up his hand to summon him to be quiet. To his own surprise, it seemed to work. ‘John supports me through everything in a way not a single medical professional could ever do. He is always there for me, always tries to cheer me up and cheer me on with everything I do. He’s my rock in a way that no one else could ever be. He’s been my real help at Queen Mary’s, and the real reason why I’m in a much better place now.’

By the time Brian had finished this monologue, he noticed his parents really had fallen quiet, and simply blinked at him as to take in all they had just been told. It was at this point also that he realised he was a little out of breath, and, upon placing his hand on his cheek, he found that it was warm and glowing. My God, I must look like an idiot right now, Brian thought to himself. Fortunately for him, though, this was not the message his parents had taken away from the scene he had put himself in.

‘You really care about him, don’t you?’ There was a small smile on his mother’s face as she asked this.

‘Yes,’ Brian sighed. ‘More than about anything or anyone in the world.’

‘Well… It really seems like the only way to help you right now is to help John,’ his father remarked, which Brian realised summarised the current state of affairs pretty well. ‘So that’s what we’re going to do, then.’

Even though this decision had already been secured beforehand, it still made a wave of relief flow through Brian’s veins now that it was reinstigated. They were going to allow John to come live with them; John would have a place to go to; and, sooner or later, depending on the outcome of the reassessment, Brian would be there to live with John and his family again. They’d be together, just the two of them, without any of the disorder and the violence and the overall chaos of Queen Mary’s that currently formed the framework of all they did and said, and they would be happy.

‘We will do that exactly,’ Ruth confirmed, then, turning to her husband, she said: ‘Why don’t you go and fetch John and Nolan, dear, and let me have a second to talk to my boy alone.’ Despite the innocent smile on her face, Brian knew that his mother had something on her mind. His father must have realised this too, for his glance lingered between his wife and his son for a little too long to be just casual, but he then nodded and took his leave either way.

Ruth waited until her husband was out of earshot, and then turned around to face her son again.

‘Brian?’ She leant in a bit closer to him, as she would do when she had something serious or confidential to share with him.

‘Yes, mum?’ Brian said, hoping she would not notice how tight his voice sounded already.

‘About John… He’s not just your roommate, or your friend, now is he? He’s more than that.’

Oh, Lord. That was a lot quicker and a lot more to the point than Brian had expected it to be. Of course, he had foreseen the likeliness of his parents expecting something sooner or later once they’d live under the same roof with his parents. He’d thought of the possibility of his mum wondering out loud why they insisted on sleeping in the same room, or his dad remarking that they never left each other’s side. The way they would look at each other, smile at each other, sit a bit too close whenever they got the chance - he had thought of what to say when such matters would be raised. He had not, however, prepared himself for something as straightforward as this question, and in the heat of the moment, he did not trust himself to lie and tell a more socially acceptable answer. Besides, his mother looked at him with such a kind and comforting expression on her face that Brian was positive he could have discarded of a body on her behalf if she would have asked him.

Therefore, he nodded nearly invisibly in response. ‘He is. He’s… We are… everything to each other,’ Brian whispered. ‘I just… need him like I’ve never needed anyone before.’ A smile broke through on his face, but no matter how badly he would have liked for it to have been one of happiness or pride, it would be incorrect to say so. It was a long-hidden feeling of insecurity towards the future, of what people would think of them - of embarrassment and a feeling of failure. Not for loving John, but for breaking the illusion his parents had had of him for so long. An illusion he had had of himself for so long - one that never might have come to the surface if it hadn’t been for John and him crossing paths. Meeting John had changed the entire road of life he had always had in sight for himself, and the realisation that moulding his life around John and what they were together was going to be a reality, in all of its good and bad points, suddenly struck him. Tears filled his eyes, and when his mother did not respond to any he had said and simply looked at him, he shook his head. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘What for?’ she asked gently.

‘For- not being what you thought I was,’ he managed. ‘For not coming home with a girl.’

‘Darling…’ Brian knew that voice, and he could feel his mother’s hand reaching out to place itself on top of his own hand before she even completed the action, as a matter of speaking. ‘I don’t care who or what you come home with - whether they’re male or female, or Catholic or Anglican, or black or white or purple with yellow dots. What I care for is that you come home as you, alive and well, unlike - unlike some of the stories you hear sometimes,’ she said, leaving Brian unsure if she meant stories from mental health clinics in general, or the ones he had witnessed and shared with her. ‘I want you to come home happy again, and I can tell that he makes you happy.’

‘He does,’ Brian smiled despite himself. ‘He makes me happier than I’ve ever been.’

‘I know, and that’s what matters to us,’ his mum said. ‘Listen, Brian. Your dad and I wanted for you to come home happy again - that’s what we sent you to Queen Mary’s for. The first few nights after we’d taken you here I could do nothing but crying and praying that sending you here would make you feel better, happier, regardless of how this happiness came about. And God must have heard my prayers.’

‘John is a gift from above,’ Brian smiled. ‘He makes me happier than I’ve ever been, or ever could have imagined being.’

‘That’s settled then.’

‘Really?’ Brian asked, not having thought his mother would be so quick to deal with the fact that her only son came home with a guy. ‘But what about- you, or dad, or grandma, or the rest of the family? Especially dad. He’s- he’s always talked about how he can’t wait till my wedding day, and to see his grandchildren…’

‘I know. He’ll have to readjust his expectations, then,’ his mother shrugged. ‘This isn’t about him or me or anyone else apart from John and you.’

‘Thank you,’ Brian smiled broadly at the recognition he had not ever even hoped to get from his family so soon. Then, a less pleasant thought dawned upon him. ‘Mum, will you tell him?’

His mother did not need any context to know what and who he meant. ‘Do you want me to tell him?’

Brian thought for a second. On the one hand it felt liberating to tell the truth, to tell his parents where he and John really stood – but on the other hand, after already having told them more than he had already planned to do and without John’s permission, he decided against the plan in the end. ‘I don’t know. I’ll have to discuss it with John. It’s not something that concerns me only, you know.’

‘Of course. It’s not just you on your own anymore from now off,’ his mother said with a small smile. ‘It’s going to be you and your better half.’ Brian felt himself glow at the mentioning of these words. John really was his better half – and his mother was accepting of the position John played in his life. Maybe things were finally looking up for him.

Things definitely seemed like they were heading in the right direction when the iron door burst open to reveal John, who skipped his way through the visiting room on his mission to find Brian. Brian heard and saw him coming from what seemed to him like miles away – he pushed his chair backward with more force than necessary, almost tripped over his mother’s bag, but did not let this stop himself from dashing towards John and catching his boyfriend into his embrace hallway down the room. When he squeezed John into a hug – and was similarly squeezed into one by John from the other side of things – his partner’s body felt warm and vibrant and alive; so much more alive than Brian had seen him in ages, or perhaps ever before. The grip of John’s fingers on the back of his grey uniform shirt was tight, like he wanted to avoid ever being separated from him in his life; as if Brian was going to allow anyone to come between the pair of them when John looked at him with the most appreciative and loving eyes he had ever been looked at with.

‘They’ll let me in,’ John squeaked in a voice squeezed with happiness and relief. ‘I’ll be allowed to stay and- and live with your family and- and with you.’ The arms around his back moved on to be placed above his shoulders, and Brian could not oppress the urge to put his own hands below John’s armpits and lift him off the floor for a spin. John squealed at first and then laughed, and when his feet were safely planted back on the floor, he threw his body against Brian’s so tightly that it took all of Brian’s strength to not lift up his chin and kiss him right there and then in the middle of the visiting room. He contained himself, though, and made a mental note to shower John in a thousand kisses once they’d get back to their room; a room which they might, with a bit of luck, exchange for Brian’s real bedroom, inside his real house before too long.

‘Of course they will. I told you they were going to love you,’ Brian replied with the biggest smile. A side glance towards his smiling mother revealed that she really did approve of this statement of his.

Harold and Nolan caught up with them, and Nolan, obviously content and relieved with the turn-out of the meeting, was quick to produce the required paperwork that needed to be signed. Brian held his breath until the moment his father had put his signature on both the file ruling that he’d take his own son back in and on the file ensuring John would be placed under their care also. It was then that he knew there was going to be no return, a thought that made mellow happiness spread through his body as he rested his hand on John’s shoulder when his boyfriend signed the paperwork with a shaky but determined hand.

The formalities then having been taken care of and the time planned for the meeting being almost up, Nolan started shaking hands and speaking of next steps to be taken – financial compensation and guidance for family of what was clumsily referred to as ‘the mentally afflicted’ and other matters Brian could not find himself caring for at the time being. All he cared about was that they were one step closer to completing their plan of escaping Queen Mary’s before the place would turn either one or the both of them out of their minds, or possibly worse.

Brian stepped forward to hug his dad and kiss his mum as a form of goodbye, and received some more words of comfort – that they would be there for his trial in a few weeks, and that John really would be welcome in their house regardless of how matters turned out for Brian. If Brian remained somewhat skeptical to that point, the last traces of doubt left his mind when he saw John willingly letting himself be captured in an embrace by both of his parents and receiving words of welcome, comfort, and encouragement. John managed little more than a series of ‘thank yous’ and ‘I can’t tell you how grateful I am’, but Brian could tell by the radiant look in his eyes when he broke away from his family-to-be that he was finally, after all this time, gathering some hope for the future – for their future.

‘We’ll see you soon, Brian. And you too, John. We’re looking forward to it,’ Brian’s mother said when Nolan turned to lead his patients out of the same door they had come from an hour ago. John turned around once more to flash them a smile, and give them a wave; Brian followed his example, then placed his hand on John’s back and guided him through the door.

‘Phew. That was a wild ride,’ said Nolan, who pretended to wipe the sweat off his forehead. The iron door fell shut behind him, and he started moving towards the exit at the other side of the hall. Brian and John followed close behind. ‘For a moment I was afraid that – you know…’ They all knew what it was that Nolan was referring to, but no one was particularly keep on speaking the words out loud. ‘But I’m glad they turned around, Brian. That whatever you said worked, and that John won’t have to worry anymore.’ John smiled for a bit, but Brian could tell it wasn’t genuine.

‘What’s wrong? Aren’t you relieved?’

‘I am,’ John confirmed. ‘But I still worry. What if you don’t get out, or if your parents change their minds on me…’

‘They won’t,’ Brian said before the thought could properly settle in John’s mind. ‘They’re not going to change their minds. And as for me – I’m gonna give it all I’ve got during the final hearing or whatever they call that. And if that’s not enough, I’ll… I’ll find a way to be out of here as soon as possible, honey. I’ll show the best of behaviour and cooperation they’ve ever seen in the history of this place, or try another reassessment. I’ll find a way to leave, I promise.’ John looked skeptical still, but luckily Nolan came to Brian’s rescue.

‘You won’t have to open a second reassessment. Jasper and Sarah and others are all on your side of the case – and with such strong support and all the effort and dedication you’ve shown in filling out the paperwork, attending sessions with the new psych, keeping up your mental diary your diary, and your exemplary behaviour at Queen Mary’s, there’s not a single objection I think they can make against your case. I can see no grounded reason for them to turn your appeal down.’

‘See?’ Brian said to John, pretending to be not in the least surprised by this claim of Nolan’s that his admission was almost a fact already. ‘Nothing to worry about.’

‘But Doctor Sumner will be there,’ John muttered. ‘He’ll find a way to let you stay.’

Having arrived at the other side of the hallway, Nolan held open the door for them; but Brian halted his step the second John brought up the name of Doctor Sumner.

‘Sorry, who are we speaking of?’ Nolan asked innocently. Brian was sure he must have read the name of his former psychiatrist in one of the papers concerning the trial, but how could Nolan know the evil intentions of the man behind the name?

‘Thank you, Nolan. We’ll see you in a bit,’ Brian said with what he knew for a fact was the fakest smile he’d ever produced. He could tell his mentor was confused by their sudden secretiveness, but – God bless him – he nodded politely and disappeared through the door. Brian waited until the door fell shut again before he looked John in the face.

‘You know Doctor Sumner is going to be there,’ John stated, more firmly this time.

‘I know,’ Brian gritted. ‘I just hoped you had forgotten about him.’

John snorted. ‘As if.’

‘Fair enough,’ Brian sighed. The truth of the matter was that Doctor Sumner had also crossed his mind more than just incidentally lately. Ever since Nolan had informed him of the fact that one was to be judged by a panel of three psychiatrists, one of which would be one’s former psychiatrist or another mental health expert who could testify to one’s character and mental illness, he had feared the possibility of Doctor Sumner disapproving of his being released out of fear he would speak up about the injustice his former psych had pulled him through. He had repressed these fears as much as he could, however, and had hoped that John would have forgotten about Doctor Sumner completely. It seemed like there was no such luck for him though; the handful of times he had brought up the nightmare of a psych during trips to Queen Mary’s garden had obviously stuck in John’s mind, and he himself remained unsure of his destiny with Doctor Sumner playing a role in it.

‘Look. I know the situation is hardly ideal, but Nolan is probably right. Sumner has no valid grounds to restrain me to Queen Mary’s without revealing his fear that he used me for his experiments to get his breakthrough in the medical world or whatever. And if he doesn’t remember so, I might just have to remind him of it.’

John’s ears seemed to prick up at the hint of such a bold thing to do. ‘You’re thinking of doing that?’

Brian, not wanting to admit that he devised this plan literally a split second ago, turned to open the door and let his lover pass through it. ‘Perhaps. If he leaves me no choice – if he’s the one to make me stay I guess I might have to bring it up. It’s not like I’ll have anything to lose in that case anyway,’ Brian grinned. ‘But I’m sure it won’t come to that point – as Nolan said, the judges have no valid grounds to keep me here for, so they’ll probably let me go. And if Sumner is the only one who disagrees… Well, I’ll just say it’s suspicious and ask him if there’s anything from our shared past that might hold him back, and leave the ball in his goal from that point.’

‘Stone cold but clever,’ John snickered. ‘You know, when you first got here, I never thought you’d have it in you to be like that.’

‘Your talents must have rubbed off on me,’ Brian shrugged.

‘My talents were not the only things that rubbed off on you.’

‘John!’ Brian called out in surprise, turning to the side to see his grinning lover catch up with him. ‘Cheeky! You did not get that from me!’

‘No, that must have been Freddie’s doing,’ John contemplated. ‘Having lived with him for a year or so has taken its toll on me.’

Brian stopped for a second. ‘Has it really been that long for Freddie?’

John nodded. ‘Same for Roger - he arrived only a month or so later, if not less. It’s kind of surreal when you think about it.’

‘It’s so weird - day to day life here passes so slowly, and yet in the grand scheme of things-’

‘May.’

Brian halted his sentence when he heard his last name being called out quite loudly in the otherwise empty seeming main hallway. It was early in the afternoon, and with no mealtimes, therapy groups, or other activities running - and a ban on residing in the canteen outside of meal hours out of a fear for fights and confrontation - there was little more than the occasional lone patient passing by.

‘Did you also hear…’ he turned to John, but was not given the time to await an answer.

‘Yes, you there. Brian.’

Brian could now no longer deny the presence of someone calling out for him, but it came as quite a shock to find that the source of the sound was no one other than Drew. Drew, the bully and murderer of Jimmy; the one who had threatened to cut his eye out, who had belittled and teased and pushed Freddie and Roger on multiple accounts, who had knocked John over and given him the biggest black eye Brian had ever witnessed - that Drew was now leaning against the matte glass wall of the canteen, with his arms crossed over his chest, a - strictly forbidden - toothpick between his lips, and for some reason a ground for calling Brian to him.

Brian could see John take a step back behind him, but then step forward again in what seemed like an attempt to show Drew that he was not going to back away. It made little impression on either one of them, for they all knew that despite the tough attitude John tried to keep up, and despite having stood up to Drew and having embarrassed him in front of all of his followers and enemies not too long ago, John did not feel comfortable around him. Hell, no one at Queen Mary’s felt comfortable around the brute of a guy; he was violent, unthinking, remorseless, and had shown on multiple occasions that he was capable of releasing the entire institution into chaos by planting his fists into the face of someone from the other side of things. Luckily he was on his own right now, but Brian nevertheless felt awkward and unsafe around him. Moreover, he could tell that John was feeling unsafe - and whatever Drew wanted from him, was not something he was going to burden John with.

‘I’ll deal with this,’ he mumbled to the man standing beside him. ‘You can go to our room if you want to - I’ll catch up.’

‘No,’ John answered softly yet resolutely. ‘I’m not leaving you here.’

Brian was unsure whether he should be grateful for Jon’s determination to stay at his side or worried that whatever Drew wanted to get back at him for would now be shared with John also. But, like always seemed to be the case when anything happened for which he would like to be given time to think about and ponder the consequences, he was given absolutely no more than a split second before he had to act and speak up.

‘Brian May,’ Drew repeated his name. The look on his face was intense, as if he was trying to figure out Brian’s blood type with the help of nothing with his eyes. He remained exactly where he was and made no attempts at moving closer, as he was usually prone to do when trying to intimidate someone, but Brian still was not comfortable.

‘Drew Myers.’ Brian hoped the shiver in his voice wasn’t too audible - and that the last name he had picked up in the canteen a while back actually belonged to Drew. Drew at any rate did not comment on it being incorrect - in fact, he made no derogatory comments or showed otherwise unpleasant behaviour at all.

‘Heard you’re going for a reassessment in a week,’ he said coolly. The little wooden toothpick between his lips switched to the other side of his mouth.

For a second Brian wanted to ask him how he got to possess this piece of information, but he realised soon enough that the news of the only successful attempt at leaving Queen Mary’s early must have spread like wildfire among its patients and staff. ‘You heard right,’ he therefore said just as coolly. Not knowing what to do with his hands, he crossed them in front of him in the same fashion as Drew did - which, he realised, must not have looked as cool on him and his 6’3, 130 pound body as it did on Drew’s be it somewhat shorter but a lot broader and more muscular one. Fortunately for him, Drew did not seem intended on calling him out today.

‘I’ll cross my thumbs for you. Hope you’ll get through.’

Brian was caught by surprise by this unexpectedly kind comment. He could feel John turning to look at him, but in his moment of surprise he could not unlock his eyes from Drew’s face. ‘Really?’

‘Yes,’ Drew said without a hint of doubt. ‘You deserve better than this.’

‘Er, thanks,’ Brian uttered after having shared a short glance with John despite it all. ‘We’re, eh, hoping to leave and pick up our lives again.’ He did not know why he said this, why he tried to make conversation with someone who had basically threatened to take their lives on multiple accounts, and who had done worse besides that. But Drew didn’t show a sign of violence or malice now; he seemed calm and reasonable and perhaps even civil, and Brian found himself unable to treat Drew the exact same way in his place.

‘As you should,’ Drew nodded. ‘You never did seem to belong here, you know. Neither did you, John.’ His hands unfolded to give a quick little point at John, who swallowed a little painfully but remained constant otherwise as Drew’s attention turned to him. ‘Way too good for a place like this. You two are better than the whole bunch of us together.’

Brian had never expected Drew to say something so kind to them.

He had also never expected that Drew saying something kind to them would simultaneously be the last thing they’d ever hear him say. A mere three days after their unexpected meetup, Drew was stabbed between the ribs with a kitchen knife one of his newly admitted rivals had acquired during a secret trip to the staff kitchen and dining room. Nolan and Derek had given CPR, an ambulance had been called, but Drew had, as the story went, been pronounced dead upon his arrival at the hospital.

Another life wasted.

All Brian could do was hope his case would indeed be approved, or else he feared that the name of the person he loved most in the entire world might soon also have to be added to the list of victims Queen Mary’s Psychiatric Institution had produced.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed - feel free to send me PMs or messages or anons about your opinions and suggestions for The Clinic, or just to come talk for a bit. I love and appreciate you all! <3

#the clinic #fanfic #queen fanfiction #breaky #brian may/john deacon

10 notes · View notes