#i managed to whump vince even here. sorry hes my babygirl even when hes a sex obsessed psycho

[vincess-princess]

we, the psychos

ch. 5

Word count: 2724 Warnings: violence A/N: i really am spoiling you with all those updates. gene simmons fans, i'm sorry, i needed a bad guy

Vince was suffocating.

Water in his lungs, water in his eyes, water in his nose. He couldn’t see, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t even scream – no sound came out, only bubbling. The coldness burned his skin; he grasped the handles of the chair, but couldn’t feel its wooden texture. And it went on, and on, and on, and the world was just cold and water-

And then it ended. The water trickled down his body and pooled at his feet. Vince opened his eyes, but still couldn’t see anything and for a second panicked. Then he realised it was just his hair covering his eyes. He shook his head to get it out of sight.

His eyes were hurting as they do after you open them underwater, and his vision hadn’t returned to him completely, so he could only see a figure in white coming up to him. But the voice was unmistakable.

“Well, Wharton,” nurse Simmons said, “enjoyed the shower?”

“Screw you,” Vince coughed out.

“Well, you’re the only one screwed here,” nurse Simmons responded cheerily. “You might want to be more polite if you don’t want another shower. And you don’t, do you?”

Vince didn’t answer. Nurse Simmons came close to him and squatted down in front of him so that their faces were on the same level. He smiled. It was all fun and games to him.

“Well?”

“Yes,” Vince croaked. He wanted to spit in Simmons’s face so bad, but that would not help his situation.

“That’s a good boy. Now, I’ll untie you, and don’t you try to pull anything.” Simmons unfastened the belts first on Vince’s legs, then on his wrists.

Vince stood up, stretched his shoulders. And when nurse Simmons turned his back on him to fetch a towel, Vince launched at him.

He jumped on nurse Simmons’ back and clasped his arms around his neck. Simmons staggered back and clutched at Vince’s arms, but Vince clung to him like a tick. Simmons was like a head taller than him and twice as wide in the shoulders, so direct assault would have Vince on the ground the very next moment. This – this gave him a chance. Not to kill Simmons, no. That would be too much. To cause him at least a sliver of the pain and discomfort he just caused Vince.

“Let go,” Simmons croaked. He tried to poke at Vince’s eye with one hand, but missed. Vince bit his finger, and Simmons yelped in pain. “I’ll fucking kill you!”

Vince’s arms began to hurt, so he enclasped Simmons’ body with his legs to give himself some propping. Simmons finally realised trying to reach the parasite on his back was useless and backed into the wall with all the speed he was capable of.

Vince hit the wall with his back so hard all the air went out of his lungs. His grip weakened, and Simmons managed to shove his hand in between his arms. Now that he could breathe again, Simmons began slamming his back into the wall until Vince released his grip and slid to the floor.

Simmons began kicking him in the ribs vehemently, shouting curses along with it. Vince covered his head and lay onto the floor in the pose of an embryo – that minimized the damage to vital organs. And now just to wait, just to endure until Simmons runs out of steam. Blows rained down his back and legs, some even came at the arms covering his face – the nurses usually tried not to hit in the face, but Simmons must have got too carried away.

In a distance, as though through fog, Vince heard another voice – a different nurse. Wonder if he stops Simmons or joins him?..

Then blows stopped.

Stradlin stood over Vince, looking at him with his typical indifference. Nothing ever touched him. Vince wished he could go through life like that – with a glass shield separating him and the world, so that he could see everything but not care about it. Stradlin never got angry, even when a patient was smearing shit all over his face, and barely ever smiled.

But at least he stopped Simmons.

“What’s that again?” he asked Simmons tiredly.

“The motherfucker tried to choke me!” Simmons said, rubbing his neck.

“Why’d you do that?” Stradling now said to Vince, not a change in his tone.

Vince moved his arms away from his face. The back of his palm was bleeding from Simmons’s sharp heel. He licked the blood off and smiled.

“He’s a dick.”

”And what do we do with him now?” Stradlin asked Simmons, losing interest to Vince.

“I’ll go ask Dr. Duren. I don’t even know what else can be done.” Simmons spit on the floor. “Would you mind watching him while I am away?”

“Alright.”

Simmons sent Vince the last hateful look and left. Stradlin picked up the towel that Simmons dropped when Vince attacked him and threw it at Vince.

“Wipe yourself up and dress.”

***

The man Duff delegated Tommy too surely was… peculiar. Long black hair that almost reached his waist that was unusually well-kept for a psycho streamed down his shoulders. Clear blue eyes looked at the world with wariness so old it was almost ingrained in them. His hospital robe was well-worn but clean, without a single wrinkle. This man hardly looked insane, and at first Tommy even doubted Duff told him the truth: how can be this man a patient? But then he looked at his fingers, and they were covered in wounds and scabs; the man kept picking at them absent-mindedly even as he and Duff spoke. Blood was under one of his nails. The man seemed not to notice.

“Bob, this is Tommy Lee. He just arrived to our asylum, so make sure his first impression is good!” Duff said with a smile. “Tommy, this is Bob Deal. He’s one of the oldies. Knows everything around here. He’ll show you around.”

“Hello,” Tommy said carefully to the man, hesitating whether he should offer him his hand. Then he decided to go for it – and the man looked at it like it was smeared with crap.

“Bob doesn’t shake hands,” Duff said apologetically. “He’s very… hygienic. Our laundresses’ favorite patient!”

“Ah, alright.” Well, what else could I expect.

“People used to show their hands to each other to prove they had no weapons. This is where hand-shaking comes from. You both can agree this is not needed in our situation,” the man spoke with a low, slightly hoarse voice. He must be a smoker. Were cigarettes allowed here?

“Well, you know, with some patients you wish they got in the habit of showing you their hands,” Duff laughed. “Not needed with you two, though, that’s true. Alright, I’ll be on my way. Please be back in twenty minutes, gents, or I’ll get into a big trouble. And keep out of nurse Simmons’ sight!”

“Don’t worry, boss,” Bob Deal said, made Tommy a lazy gesture to follow him and turned around. They went up the pathway circling the asylum.

“Hey, Bob. What’s so bad about nurse Simmons?” Tommy asked. Bob kept silent so long Tommy thought he was ignoring him. What did he do to earn such unfriendliness?

Then he stopped and turned to Tommy. “Two things,” he said. “First: don’t call me Bob. My name is Mick Mars. Nurses mustn’t know.”

“Mick Mars?” The name was more fit for a practicing performer than for a psych patient. Though… these were not too far apart. People of the arts were all a bit cooky. “Alright… And why nurses mustn’t know?”

“They will tell them.” Mick highlighted the last word with his voice. He looked at Tommy with grave seriousness. To laugh now would be to lose his favor for good.

“Oh. Them. Alright. And who are they?”

Mick didn’t answer, just put his finger to his mouth.

Well, if that was the asylum’s most reasonable fellow, Tommy feared to imagine what their worst case looked like. The blonde guy from the canteen? Or something worse?

They stood in silence until Tommy lost his patience.

“What’s the second thing?”

“Oh, yeah.” Mick’s tone switched to lazy casual so suddenly it gave Tommy a whiplash. “Nurse Simmons. Right. Well, he’s very good friends with Dr. Duren. And he tells him about everything he sees. And he usually sees things that we’d rather Dr. Duren didn’t know about.”

“A snitch,” Tommy concluded.

“You could say that.” Mick turned around and continued his path. He was surprisingly fast for a short man that he was - his head barely reached Tommy’s shoulder.

They went up the path and reached the asylum building.

“Alright. This,” Mick waved vaguely in the air, “is out beloved Feelgood Asylum. You feelin’ good here already?”

Tommy snorted. Mick clearly liked that.

“Our beloved asylum contains about seventy patients, give or take. About twenty nurses and then the director, Dr. Duren. He’s the one who’s gonna diagnose you and prescribe you stuff and all. Sometimes he requests help from other doctors when the case is tough, but usually he does it all himself.”

“And what kind of case is so tough Dr. Duren can’t crack it?” Tommy’s father spoke of him with much respect, even reverence. Dr. Duren also treated Tommy’s uncle, and, as far as he knew, successfully. Tommy never met him, but father said he was living peacefully in the Yorkshire countryside. If your treatment goes well, you can join him there, father used to say. That was before Tommy’s psychosis revealed itself, though.

“I think you’ve already met him,” Mick said, looking pointedly at Tommy’s cheek. Tommy couldn’t help but touch the bruise the blonde guy left him. It hurt a bit, and the cheekbone began to swell, but overall Tommy felt pretty good about the fight. He didn’t back off and stood up to himself.

“You saw the fight too?”

“No. But everyone had heard about that already. You did the right thing. Wharton had it coming.”

“He really is… something else.” Tommy recalled the inhuman shriek and shuddered. “Is he always like that?”

“Usually not. But he’s had a bad spell for a couple weeks. Spent almost all of them in a padded cell. Guess that makes a person a little bit… mad.”

Tommy snorted again. Well, at least this old man was fun.

“And what was the consensus on him?”

“I don’t know, but if I were those doctors, I’d say: pour more cold water on the bastard. He surely needs to cool down.” Mick started walking again, and Tommy followed him. “The problem is, he hurts other inmates. Some complain of sexual assault. Some… well, don’t react well to his antics. My advice is: keep away.”

“Alright,” Tommy said. What he saw and heard of Wharton convinced him this was rather sound advice. He only wished Wharton would also keep away from him. For some reason, Tommy doubted it. People like him tended to be pretty vindictive.

“Now, the asylum itself is Building A. Nurses live there – in Building B.” Mick waved at a smaller building a little bit farther away. It was connected with the asylum by a corridor. “We’re pretty far in the countryside, and they can’t commute here from London every day.”

“Looks much newer than the asylum.”

“Because it is. When asylum housed less people, nurses lived in the same building, just in a different wing. Good times those were. Peaceful.”

“You were there already?” Tommy stared at Mick. He didn’t look that old – in his forties, maybe. How long had he spent in the asylum?

“You heard Michael – I’m one of the oldies,” Mick huffed. He looked clearly displeased, and Tommy decided to drop the topic.

“And then the world went crazy, and people went crazy, and the asylum had to take in more and more patients. And now we’re all cramped in here, two, three in a ward… I heard you’ve got it rather fancy?”

“What, the ward?” Tommy clarified. “Fancy” was the last word he could come up with to describe it. But other patients probably didn’t have even that. “Well… the curtains are full of holes and the carpet needs washing, and I’m pretty sure someone bled on my mattress, but otherwise yeah, you could say it’s fancy.”

“Oh-oh, look at him, he’s got holes in his curtains!” Mick teased. “Spoiled little brat, you are. Why aren’t you wearing a robe like us peasants, anyway?”

“Du- Michael said there’s none in my size.”

“Well,” Mick looked him over critically, “your size is probably hard to match, that’s true. But don’t you worry – they’ll dress you up like the rest of us.”

“Oh no,” Tommy moaned. “These look just horrible.”

“You’re in an asylum,” Mick reminded sternly. ”It’s not a beauty pageant.”

“Maybe that’s why you all are crazy here,” Tommy grumbled. “Humans need beauty to live.”

“Humans need food, water and air to live. Everything else is secondary.” Mick waved his hand and headed up the path.

“Now, that’s the laundromat and that’s the kitchen. You might be assigned laundry or kitchen duty some time – if you’re normal around knives, of course.”

At home Tommy was forbidden from going to the kitchen after a maid discovered four knives under his pillow and two in the pockets of his coat. He decided not to tell Mick that, but the old man with his piercing gaze probably saw something anyway.

“So do the patients do all the work around here?”

“Well, not all. There are cooks and laundresses and cleaners. But there are too few of them to service all the patients, so yeah – we have to help ourselves.”

“And why don’t just hire more people?”

Mick stopped dead in his tracks, looked at Tommy, saw he was serious and erupted into laughter.

“Oh, sweet innocence! You do know that services cost money, right?”

“Of course,” Tommy pouted, crossing his arms on his chest in a defensive gesture. “It’s just… doesn’t the asylum have sponsors?”

“Sure it does. But sponsors are also not bottomless moneybags. And they, unlike patients, haven’t doubled in numbers in recent decades.”

“Oh.” Tommy’s father was one of the sponsors, and he never mentioned the asylum was underfunded. And Tommy’s father had no problem with money. Couldn’t he invest even a little in the place he sent his son to?

“Yeah. So that’s why we have to work. Dr. Duren says, of course, that labor humanizes and ennobles, but we all know that’s just an excuse.”

Tommy imagined himself mopping a bathroom floor and shuddered. Working like a servant, getting all sweaty and dirty, fumbling with psychos’ dirty underwear or washing the dishes – horrible, horrible! Maybe his privileged status would also absolve him of all this labor? He was already noble enough.

Duff would probably tell him to get off his high horse, and as much as Tommy liked him, that attitude irritated him. They all may be psychos here, but even among psychos there is variation. He needed to ask Dr. Duren about it. He was friends with Tommy’s father, surely he would cut Tommy some slack?

“And you sure need to learn what real labor is like. You look like you haven’t washed a dish in your life,” Mick added ruthlessly.

Well, he was not wrong. Tommy was used to considering that a reason for pride, but somehow the only thing he now felt was shame. And then – anger. How dares this lunatic shame him?

He just opened his mouth to express his resentment when Mick frowned, staring at the nurses’ dormitory, and then quietly cursed.

“Damn it. Nurse Simmons! He can’t see us!”

Tommy followed the path of his gaze and saw the nurse from the canteen. Even at this distance he instilled some primal fear in Tommy. Especially now, when he was walking in big strides, his hands were clenched into fists, and his coat half-soaked in water.

Mick dashed to the nearest tree and hid behind the trunk. From there he gestured to Tommy to hide behind another tree, which he did.

They watched the nurse enter the building, and even from their spots could hear the bang he slammed the door with.

“Hm. Someone got him real mad.” Mick scratched his stubbly chin. “We better go back to other patients.”