Hi. Don't even ask where this story came from. Originally it was supposed to be for something else that I can't quite tell you guys about yet. But I tweaked it and wound up with this, so I thought I'd post it.
This story is pretty depressing and deals with a lot of serious issues. Tread carefully and read at your own risk. I'm not really an expert on any of this stuff, so if something doesn't look quite right I apologize. I suppose you could consider this AU (it's meant to take place sometime after You Posted What?!) and it's definitely a bit OOC.
For the record, this story is NOT BRASE. If that's what you were expecting, hit the back button RIGHT NOW.
Now that I've warned you about it, here is the story. Enjoy. I do not own Lab Rats or Rubik's Cubes. (Dr. Nelson and this story, however, belong to me.)
* * * By Reason of Insanity * * *
Taking a deep breath, I slowly pushed open the doors. Every fiber of my being didn't want to be here. It took all my will power just to put one foot in front of the other. I shouldn't be here; then again, neither should he. And he was the reason I came.
The white walls were dazzlingly bright. They were too bright and too white for my taste. Throw up a poster or two, for crying out loud!
I approached the front desk. A lady looked up at me. "Can I help you, sweetie?" she asked.
"Yes, I'm . . . I'm here to visit someone," I said slowly.
"Their name?"
"Huh?"
"What's the patient's name? Who are you going to see? I need that kind of info, hun."
I took a deep breath. I didn't want to say it. "Ch-Chase Davenport," I stuttered. Hey, I got it out. That's a start.
"And your name?"
"Bree Davenport. I'm his sister. I was told I could go see him now . . ."
"Now, now, honey, calm down. You can see your brother."
"Thank you."
"Just let me call someone to escort you back there."
"Thank you," I muttered again. I sat down in one of the nearby green chairs, twiddling my fingers nervously. My eyes kept going back to the door. Maybe I should just leave. I didn't want to see him . . . what am I talking about? He's my brother, and I will see him. I don't care what he's done or who he is now. I will see him.
"Bree Davenport?"
I looked up. Standing above me was a tall, middle-aged man. He was wearing a white shirt with a nametag clipped onto the front pocket. His light blonde hair was slightly ruffled and he wore a smile on his face. How anyone could smile in a place like this was beyond me.
"I'm Dr. Nelson," he continued. "It's good to meet you."
He held out his hand and I shook it politely as I stood up. Dr. Nelson and Mr. Davenport had known each other for years. I think they went to high school together. I had never met him personally, but Mr. Davenport had told me a lot about him.
"You're here to see your brother?" Dr. Nelson asked me.
I nodded wordlessly. I didn't think I could bring myself to talk.
"Right this way."
We walked through a series of secure doors to the inner workings of the building. The doors were designed so that no one on the inside could get out. So people like Chase couldn't get out.
The two of us walked through the hallways. There were a couple of people milling about, talking with other doctors or with each other. Paintings hung on the walls. Some were bright and beautiful; some were sorrowful and tragic. All had a unique touch to them; something I couldn't quite describe.
"He's been pretty calm lately," Dr. Nelson said suddenly, "but I feel it's best to warn you."
"Mr. Davenport has already told me what he's like," I said quietly, speaking to the doctor for the first time.
"I'm not sure he could prepare you for what you'll see. I'm not sure I could prepare you for what you'll see, and I do this for a living. Bree, don't go in there with any hopes or expectations. You'll only be disappointed. Be careful what you say, and do not make him mad. If anything happens, just yell for me and I'll come in. Got it?"
I nodded weakly. "Got it."
"This is his room." Dr. Nelson indicated one of the large doors. The name plate on the front that read 'Chase Davenport' made me sick to my stomach. The doctor opened the door for me and gave me a sad look. I gulped and entered.
He's Chase; he wouldn't hurt me. Those words flew through my brain, but they only brought tears. That was exactly what I had thought when . . . no, I wouldn't go there. Not now.
The room I walked into was pretty much bare. There was another door that led into a bathroom. Bright light poured in through a window; a window that had a very obvious lock on it. There was a table in the corner with a lone chair beside it. The only other furnishing was a cot.
My brother was on the cot. His long hair reminded me of how he used to have it when we were young. He hadn't worn it like that since around the time we got out of the lab. It looked messy, too, like he hadn't brushed it in days. Or weeks. He was lying flat on his back and didn't even look up to address me when I walked in.
Chase was holding a Rubik's Cube in his hands. For a moment I smiled faintly. The Rubik's Cube had been Chase's favorite toy as a child. Adam and I used to time him on how fast he could solve them. His record was twenty-three seconds.
Now, however, Chase didn't seem interested in solving it. He just moved the rows back and forth, back and forth. Finally he stopped and smiled triumphantly. I squinted. The Rubik's Cube was completely unsolved, but Chase was staring at it like it held the answers to the universe.
Unable to take this crazy display any longer, I cleared my throat to make my presence known. Chase looked back at me. He blinked as if trying to figure out what was going on. Finally he mouthed my name. I nodded slowly.
Chase sat up on the bed and placed the Rubik's Cube beside him. He motioned to the chair. "Sit," he commanded. His voice sounded like a bomb going off after all the silence. I sat down.
For several seconds there was only more silence. Chase stared at me with his eyes half-closed, almost like he was analyzing me. I shifted uncomfortably. It had been months since I had seen my brother, and I wasn't quite sure how to act.
"You came," Chase said finally. "They didn't think you would come. I did, but I didn't expect you so soon."
I wasn't entirely sure what to say. "Um, yeah, well . . . I'm here."
"Good. Why?"
"Huh?"
"Why are you here?"
"Well, I came to see you."
"But why?"
"I . . . I thought it was time to come."
"Time." Chase mumbled the word like it was in a foreign language. He cracked a small smile, but he didn't explain his reason for doing so.
"I wanted to see how you're doing," I added.
"Doing?" Chase asked. His smile fell. "How do you think I'm doing, Bree? I'm in prison."
"You're not in prison."
"I might as well be. I have locks on my windows and my doors and the people here don't trust me to do anything by myself." Chase rolled his eyes. He leaned back against the wall and stared up at the ceiling. Absentmindedly he mumbled, "They all think I'm crazy."
"Not guilty by reason of insanity."
The gavel fell.
I closed my eyes for a second. "They have good reason to," I murmured. "Do you . . . do you remember what you did?"
"I remember some things," Chase drawled. "I don't remember others. Some things only I remember, but everyone else says they didn't happen. Tell me what you remember."
What did I remember? I remembered the screams. I remembered the teachers yelling at us. I remembered the crack of the gun. I remembered the police sirens.
In spite of myself, tears slipped down my cheeks. Chase was staring at me as I silently cried. To my horror, he smiled. Then he did something worse. He laughed.
He laughed at me. He laughed at my pain. This was funny to him. That was sick. Literally sick. Chase was sick.
"You still haven't told me what you remember," he said as the laughter abruptly stopped. "Why are you so upset?"
"Why am I upset?" Now I was starting to get angry. I told myself that this wasn't Chase's fault, but it still hurt. It hurt that he didn't even know. "Because I've seen the news stories about the kid who brings a gun to school. But I never in a million years dreamed that that kid would be you!"
"What?" Chase asked, his face twisting in confusion. "No, I didn't do that."
"You did," I said softly. "I know. I was there. You . . . you pointed the gun at me."
"What?" Chase exclaimed again. "No . . . n-no. They promised. They said they wouldn't hurt you!"
"Who's 'they'?" I asked gently.
Chase looked at me as if I had just asked why the sky is blue. He chuckled quietly and looked off to his left. For a few seconds he sat like that, just staring at the empty air beside him. He looked like he was focusing on something; something I couldn't see. It was terrifying me.
Sometimes I felt guilty. Guilty that we hadn't recognized the signs earlier. Chase had become unfocused. He didn't listen to Mr. Davenport and he frequently forgot what we were doing. His misdirection got us into trouble more than once. Adam's leg had been in a cast for six weeks. It wasn't pretty.
But the day he snapped, that was a day I would never forget. He hadn't actually hurt anyone, thank goodness. But he could've. He wanted to. And that was enough.
When they finally established that Chase was . . . well, ahem, crazy, they sent him here. They still didn't know what had caused it. Some people blamed his bionics. The more scientific people blamed genetics. Considering Douglas's strange history, I suppose that's not outside the realm of possibility.
Since a psychopath with bionics was extremely dangerous, Douglas had given the hospital some bionic signal interrupters to place in his room. Chase hadn't been bionic for a very long time now. I had felt them when I walked in the room. They affected me too.
"They don't really like you, you know," Chase said suddenly. I jumped as I was yanked out of my thoughts and placed back into reality.
"Th-They don't?" I asked, still not certain who 'they' were.
Chase shook his head mournfully. "I've tried," he said in that bored, drawling voice that was about to drive me up the wall. "But they seem to think you're bad. That's why they told me to shoot you. I'm sorry."
"It's okay." I wasn't sure if I could call that a real apology or not, but I was willing to take it.
"But I don't think they want to kill you anymore."
"Well, ah, that's good."
"But it's hard to say. They change their minds quickly. Plus they fight a lot. So I really couldn't tell you."
"Okay." I didn't know how to continue our conversation. I spent fourteen years locked in a basement with Chase. Why was this so awkward? Simple: he was out of his mind. "So . . . are you doing okay in here?"
"I think I've already told you that," Chase said. "Wait, have I? Because they always tell me that I imagine things. So did I tell you how I've been doing?"
"Well, sort of," I said. "I mean, I was just trying to think of something to say."
"I have a question for you: why did it take you so long to come?"
"I . . . I didn't know what to say to you."
"Will you be coming back? A lot of people don't come back. I've met other people here who have friends who come to visit them, but once those friends see this place they don't come back. Mr. Davenport comes back, but not a lot. Adam comes back too, but I can tell he doesn't like it. You don't like it either. So will you be coming back?"
Once I had figured out that whole speech, I replied, "Do you need me to come back?"
Chase leaned back and growled, "I don't need your help or anyone else's!"
Translation: I need you now more than ever.
"Then I'll come back," I whispered.
"Okay." It wasn't enthusiastic or excited or even angry or sad. It was a simply emotionless word. Just 'okay.' Only 'okay.'
"Good." My reply was just as emotionless.
We sat there in silence for a few minutes, brother and sister, alone in the room of a mental hospital. My heart broke for Chase. He looked so forlorn. That was when I realized how much my baby brother needed me. I didn't care that he had tried to send a bullet through my heart. He was Chase, he was my brother, and I needed to be there for him.
Without warning, Chase's face paled. "Get out," he said quietly.
"What?" I asked.
"Get out!" he shouted. "Get out!" Before I knew it, the Rubik's Cube was flying straight at my head. My instincts kicked in and I ducked just before it reached me. The toy hit the wall hard enough to leave a dent and it fell to the floor.
The door opened up and Dr. Nelson rushed in. "Bree, are you okay?" he asked.
"Um, yeah, fine," I said. I shakily stood up. "Chase?"
My brother had curled up into a ball on his bed. His back was facing me. He didn't move a muscle when I said his name.
I felt a hand on my shoulder. "Let's go, Bree," Dr. Nelson whispered in my ear.
"Bye Chase," I murmured. I didn't get a response.
Once we were out in the hallway, Dr. Nelson asked, "So, how did it go?"
"He's . . . he's changed so much," I said with a gulp.
"That's what happens," the man said sadly. "It can be hard to watch someone you love deal with something like that."
"I haven't seen him in months," I whispered. "The last time I talked to him was after his trial. All I knew was what Mr. Davenport and the others had told me from their visits. I knew it was bad, I just didn't realize it was this bad."
As I looked at some of the paintings on the wall across from me, I noticed one in particular. In the bottom right hand corner I could make out my brother's sloppy signature. I walked closer to it. The painting was of a Rubik's Cube not unlike the one Chase had been playing with just a few minutes ago. But as I got a good look at it, I realized that something was very off.
Three sides of the Rubik's Cube were visible. That meant you could see twenty-seven squares. As I looked closely, I realized that not a single one of them was the same color.
"There are only six colors on a Rubik's Cube," I said absentmindedly. "It wouldn't work with this many. There's no way to solve it."
"That's why he painted it that way," Dr. Nelson said quietly. "To Chase, life is unsolvable."
Tears stung the back of my eyes. I knew what I had to do. "When can I come back?" I asked, turning around to face the doctor. "I want to come back every chance I can."
"Are you sure, Bree?" Dr. Nelson asked me. "It can be very hard watching someone go through this. You're used to Chase thinking and acting a certain way, but he doesn't anymore. And he might not ever change. You can't get your hopes up thinking that one day he'll magically be all better. I hate to break it to you, Bree, but life isn't that simple."
"I know," I said plainly.
"You're going to have to deal with crazy episodes and watch him suffer through strange delusions that you could never understand. He'll say things that will make you wonder what's going through his mind at that moment. There will be times when he doesn't even remember who you are. If you break, Bree, he breaks too. When you're hopeless and sad, he feels the same way."
"It seems like you're trying to make me feel hopeless," I said quietly.
"No, that's not it at all. I've been doing this for many years, Bree. I've seen how a patient's family can be affected. It's not easy on anyone."
"I don't care," I said stubbornly. "I'm going to be there with him every step of the way. Even if he never recovers, I want to be there for him. He's my baby brother, and right now he needs me more than ever."
If you can still read this because your eyes aren't blurry with tears, how did you like it? Hey, I warned you that it was not exactly an uplifting story. Did I do alright with everything? I apologize again if anything seemed off.
A few of Mia-Teresa-Davenport's one-shots helped inspire parts of this story.
This is a one-shot, so it is complete. But somehow I wound up writing a sequel to it. It's called "Now More Than Ever." Check it out!
On a lighter note, this is my twentieth story! Yay!
Did you guys like the story? I like writing things about Bree and Chase's (SIBLING!) relationship. Even though Chase was very . . . different in this story. Review to tell me what you thought and favorite if you liked it. See you all soon!