Full Summery: Jo-Anna Stevenson, a patient at Central State Hospital, in Norman, OK, suffers from suicidal tendencies, vivid delusions, and violent outbursts. She'd been a resident of Ward C, best known for it's violent, yet practically harmless patients for just over a year when Ponyboy Curtis is admitted. When he tells her that he too, hears the voices of those he had lost, the two form an unlikely friendship. Will Ponyboy be able to chase away his own demons, while trying to save Jo from her own, or will the pair suffer for the rest of their lives, forgotten by the world they once knew? Will the pair's common loss bond them together or tear them apart? And when all hope seems lost for one of them, how will the other cope with the fact that they may never see their new friend again?

Told in duo perspective, switching between Jo-Anna and Ponyboy. Rating due to violence, language, and a few (minor) smut scenes.

"After great pain a formal feeling comes-
The nerves sit ceremonious like tombs;
The stiff Heart questions-was it He that bore?
And yesterday-or centuries before?

The feet, mechanical, go round
A wooden way
Of ground, or air, or ought,
Regardless grown,
A quartz contentment, like a stone.

This is the hour of lead
Remembered if outlived,
As freezing persons recollect the snow-
First chill, then stupor, then the letting go."

- Emily Dickinson

I met him in the hallway, like so many broken, beaten souls. His eyes were rimmed with dark circles, his hair slicked back with grease and dirt. He was skinny, his frame so thin, he looked almost breakable.

I overheard the interns talk about him. Suicidal, hopeless, broken. From what I gathered, he was in for his third suicide attempt. This time, he almost succeeded. His brother's name sounded familiar, but it wasn't until later that I learned why. Sodapop Curtis's kid brother.

I wandered down the whitewashed hall, letting my thin gown flow around my thin frame. The IV that was hooked to my arm dragging noisily behind me.

"Where to, Jo?" the orderly, Michael, asked as I passed him.

"The rec room," I said with a shrug. "I need some sky."

"If you just let people help you, you could have all the sky you want," he said matter-of-factly. His tone annoyed me. I didn't want help. I wanted to go home and get into fights and do drugs. I wanted to fuck my life up as much as I could before I died. But as it was, I was drugged up on happy pills and mild sedatives. "To keep her calm" they explained to my older brother, who was the only person who gave a damn about me.

"Who's the new kid?" I asked, anything to change the subject.

"Ponyboy Curtis," he said with a shrug.

"No kidding?" I laughed. Strange name. "What's he in for?" I asked even though I already knew. We were all here for the same thing. We all wanted to get out. We all wanted to take the easy way out.

"Jo-Anna, you know I can't discuss that with you," Mike said gently. "Here, go smoke, but stay in the rec room, okay?"

"Sure thing, Mike," I nodded happily. Mike always gave me cigarettes. He was the only orderly who liked me.

I wandered into the rec room, the IV hindering my ability to maneuver around the group of boys sprawled out on the floor.

"Oh look, it's our resident head case!" one cackled. Jacob. He was in for beating his girlfriend half the death then trying to down a bottle of pills. He was violent, meaner than anyone I'd ever met. And that's saying a lot since my ol' man threw me through our glass door a few years back.

"She's on her happy drip, she won't even fight back," Harris, an ugly Soc who was in for fighting too much and drinking his troubles away, taunted. His folks thought by putting him away, he'd turn his life around. Naw, that kid got way worse with time.

"Stuff it, Hairy," I growled. He flinched. He hated that nickname.

"Need a light?" Donna, my favorite person asked. Donna was a quiet, soft spoken broad, with wheat blonde hair and sad blue eyes. She was from my neighborhood, a greaser girl like the rest of us. She was in for swallowing a bottle of pills, just like me. We almost went out together, came in the same night and clicked instantly. I knew her from Buck Merril's place. She was often at the same parties I was.

"Thanks Don," I said lightly. She lit the weed for me before leading me past the boys, so we were against the wall, our eyes locked on the little window that offered just a hint of sunlight.

"They're transferring me," she said sadly. Her eyes dimmed even more. "Next week, they're sending me upstate, said they can't do me anymore good here."

"What? They can't do that!" I yelped, my heart racing. Donna was my only friend, the only person who understood the monsters in my head.

"I know, girl, I tried to tell them they ain't got no right, but shoot, they don't care none," she sighed. "You gotta promise me you won't do nothin' stupid though, okay? 'Cause when we get better and they let us see the light of day again, I wanna see your face on the other side of the fence, savvy?"

"Yeah," I nodded, though it was a bold faced lie. She knew good and well that stupid was something I was good at. It was almost every other day they had to pump my stomach or dope me up on sedatives just to stop me from screaming myself hoarse.

"Jo-Anna Stevenson?" a man dressed in white called out. I looked up and followed the sound of his voice, until my eyes landed on the man. He looked about 30, his green eyes glistening under the bright, florescent lights.

"Yes sir?" I answered carelessly.

"Time for your session," he said dully, as if he couldn't care less.

"It's Friday," I reminded him coolly. I had sessions six days a week. Friday was my free day. The only day I could really let the monsters take over and forget about fighting them for a while.

"It's Monday," Donna hissed in my ear. I flinched. I didn't remember time passing at all. I guess my latest round of sedatives took longer to wear off. I sighed and stomped out my butt before pushing my way through the mass of people in the rec room. Normally the boys and girls were kept on separate parts of the ward, but since we were overcrowded, we were all stuck doubling, sometimes tripling up and rooms weren't as split as they were a few months prior.

Dr. Robert O'Ryan led the way down the long hall until we reached what us residents dubbed the Fuzz Chamber. Most of us had been arrested at least once and to be honest, the little white room with a big desk and two chairs felt exactly like being booked down at the station. Only we were to talk about our feelings instead of trying to work our way out of our crime.

The thick file on his desk was all too familiar. My favorite words stuck out like sore thumbs. "Suicidal", "Bipolar", "Depressed", "Delusional". The list went on and on. "Borderline", "High Risk", "Self-Mutilation". "Admitted January 15th, 1965".

I had been in Central State Hospital, in Norman, Oklahoma, almost two and a half hours from my home in Tulsa, for just over a year. The winter chill could be felt throughout the hospital, but here in Ward C, where the suicidal, violent, but less dangerous residents reside, it felt a lot colder. My roommates, Clair and Grace, were practically walking corpses as it was, so they never felt the chill, but I, on the other hand, would curl in the tightest possible ball, hindered by the wire that kept my IV pumping through my veins, the thin sheet tightly wrapped around my thin, weak body. The IV they had me on now made me so sick, that I couldn't even keep water down. But no one seemed to care. "Keep her sane," was their method. Even if it killed me.

"Jo-Anna?" Dr. O'Ryan called softly. I looked up, my eyes meeting his.

"What?"

"Did you hear a word I just said?" he asked gently.

"No," I said truthfully. Better to be honest.

"Are you still hearing your mother's voice?" he tried again.

"No," I lied. Truth be told, I heard her all the time. My mother died when I was a little girl. I didn't start hearing her until after the fire claimed the lives of my twin brother, my youngest sister and beloved dog.

"So the medication is working," he nodded, sounding almost relieved. "What about the man in black? Do you still see him at night?"

I hesitated. I'd swallowed a handful of sleeping pills a month prior thanks to the man in black. He made the pain a lot worse. Made the loss of my family feel that much more hard to handle. It didn't help that a few months ago news that Dallas Winston, one of the few people I trusted, had been shot and killed by the fuzz. No, losing Dally, that killed any hope for me to get out of that godforsaken place.

"Not as often," I whispered. I bit back a scream. A scream that would only result in me being shoved into the quiet room, electric currents shot through my veins. Because god knew we were still outdated here in Ward C.

"How often?" he asked.

"Once a day or so," I lied. I lied like no tomorrow, just so the dose of my juice didn't get changed again.

"Are you still feeling overwhelmed with grief?" he coaxed. "Still feeling hopeless? Like you need the world to end?"

"Stop!" I screamed suddenly, my vision blurring. I ripped the IV from my arm, finally fed up with the petty bullshit. "Stop treating me like one of your golden patients who are going to get better and go home and live happily ever after! You aren't going to fix me!"

"Calm down, Jo, before you spend the night in the quiet room," he said sternly.

"No! Leave me alone!" Suddenly I was tearing out the door, slamming face first into the new kid.

"Move!" I screamed at him. He looked at me with wide, scared eyes, before grabbing my arm and pulling me into the room nearest to us. It was Donna's room. Her roommate, a lanky, silent girl, just stared as the boy closed the door.

"Don't scream," he said in a hushed tone, ushering for me to follow him. My heart was racing in my chest. The voices…god the voices were everywhere. I felt my head begin to cloud as the sedative wore off. The panic was setting in way too quickly.

Even as the boy spoke, I made no sense of his words. The only thing I heard was "I hear them too."

I sank to my knees, my chest aching, my breath coming in rapid, panicked gasps. My stomach heaved, but there was nothing to throw up. I felt as if I was dying all over again. Again and again, the taunts, the cruel, relentless words came slamming down on me.

And there he was. The man in black. His horrible, cynical laugh booming in my ears.

"I hear them too."

A/n - This idea came to me a while ago, and I kept forgetting to actually post the prologue! I definitely need reviews on this one to keep it going, because it's a very tricky plot to work with. Some of the facts will be a little outdated and dramatized, to help fit the story better. I'm fully aware that in the 60s conditions at Central State Hospital were improving, but I wanted to give it the 50s vibe, because it fits the story a lot better. Shock Therapy, lobotomies, cruel treatment and overcrowding, all better suit the story-line.

Want your idea for a "demon" to come into play? Shoot me a review and I'll see what I can do.