Aspen
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First of all, I'm having a few issues with Partners, so I'm trying to stop thinking about it by writing something else. I know I promised a sequel, but instead I produced a prequel, so I hope you enjoy it.
READ NIGHTSHADE BEFORE YOU READ THIS!
This is the prequel to Nightshade. Aspen: Fear. Nightshade: Truth. Hepatica: Trust. Written to a great variety of music.
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DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything but this plot, and even that's debatable at this point.
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Quiet as a cat, a young child of about nine padded through the hallway connecting his bathroom to the bedroom, past the kitchen. Shadows fell upon the floor from the moon shining in the window, and the boy only stared straight ahead, not daring to glance to his side. As he passed the kitchen, a cup was knocked off of the counter, and the boy instinctively reacted.
Ebony eyes ringed with dark circles met ghostly pale ones, pale as the moon. Or rather, A ghostly pale one. For the other was slashed open, blood congealing in the socket where the eye had been ripped out. Flinching, and yet completely unreacting, the boy continued on his way, even as the figure in the kitchen beckoned menacingly at him, baring it's broken teeth.
Upon reaching his room, he crept to his bed and wrapped the comforter around his shoulders and over his head, his shoulders shivering with suppressed sobs, and he could hear the wailing in his head and see the threatening motions and feel the pain the figure outside his door wished upon him.
But it couldn't get in, that much he knew.
No one ever believed him.
Not even his own mother believed him. She had brushed it off, calling it a hallucination, and chocked it all up to grief and his mourning. The boy knew better.
He knew better now, knew better than to mention it to her, it would only make her upset. She was pregnant, he knew that too, and with her husband's death, he hadn't wanted to inflict any more pain on her, seeing as it was his fault anyway that said husband was gone.
And so he kept quiet.
Ignoring the fact that he hadn't slept more than two hours at a time in over three months, and taking the scoldings of his mother, who accused him of breaking dishes when he very well hadn't. But what could he say?
That spirits were hunting him? That was a laugh. She would call it a childish fear of the dark, and he would continue to lose sleep, continue to throw himself into rigorous training sessions that left him exhausted and bloody, but no closer to rest.
So all he could do was spend as much time outside as he could during the day, and try to spend as much time in as room as he could at night, for They could never seemed to be able to either leave the house or reach him in his room. However, there was no way he could stay there all the time, and whenever he left, They were there, waiting for him.
He supposed they didn't have anything else to do, really.
One time, one had been so violent with him that it had left grip marks on his arm, and there had been nothing he could do about. How exactly does one, saiyan or no, go about defending oneself while being attacked by a thing already dead and translucent? How exactly does one expect to feel when instead of experiencing nightmares of the Games, one starts dreaming of people without faces, and of people who had them, but were mutilated and ripped to shreds?
The boy didn't know, and still he remained silent.
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"Gohan? GOHAN!" Chichi called, rapping sharply on the door. Gohan hadn't moved from where he had settled himself, sitting upright on his bed, blanket still wrapped around his, and slowly, he unwound it, pulling on some clean clothes and opening the door. Instantly, he was face-to-face with a pale, worried Chichi, and she pressed a hand to his cheek. Feeling the unusual cold from her touch, Gohan shivered.
It had never been like this before.
Yes, the training kept him strong, but the lack of sleep and the fact that he had taken to rarely eating had not unaffected his body. The hybrid's face was an almost geisha pale, and his eyes were so dark, and his skin felt physically cold to the touch. He still had muscle, but he was thin, far too thin.
Gohan knew why.
Somehow, he knew it was what happened when you were touched by a ghost.
"Sweetie, you slept in until noon, are you SURE you're alright?"
Gohan didn't have the heart to tell her that the only sleep he had gotten was the hour right after dawn, when everything seemed to fade away. If he told her it would only hurt her. Blank-faced, he inclined his head.
"Yes, I'm fine." he murmured. "Please don't worry yourself."
Chichi frowned and put her hand to his forehead. Cold, as it had been for the last month and a half.
"Well, either way, you need to get ready to go, you have a doctor's appointment that we need to get to."
A doctor couldn't help.
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Several hours later, they arrived back home, one incredibly distressed, the other with an expression of "I knew it". The doctor could, obviously, find nothing physically wrong, save the fact that he was rather underweight, and could obviously do nothing about the ghosts.
Gohan feared that he was getting worse, for on the way out, a young girl with only a few scraps of hair to her head shot him a menacing grin and waved three fingers at him that were cracked in half at the joints.
Quiet, Gohan left the house, and flew off towards the west.
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"I don't know what to do with him, I really don't."
"Well, are you sure that there's actually something wrong with him? Chichi, Goku only JUST died-"
"Bulma, it's not that, I'm telling you! I swear it, this has nothing to do with grief. I don't know what to do…" A sob. "I need some help."
"Here, then. If you're that upset, let me give you this number. It's actually a center for kids, you KNOW, but they might be able to help him. This place has won all sorts of awards and stuff, and they might be able to stop this. You want to give it a shot?"
"At this point, I'll try anything."
From where he sat with his ear pressed up against the door, Gohan scowled.
He wasn't crazy, he knew that, and now, even Bulma wanted to send him away to some place for crazy people. He wasn't crazy. He couldn't be crazy.
As he got up, he inclined his head to the same terrifying entity that had threatened him the night before, the woman with the missing eye.
He wasn't crazy. He couldn't be crazy.
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Silent, Gohan followed his mother down a cold hallway lit by burning fluorescent lights that hurt his eyes. He didn't think Chichi was any happier o be there than he was.
Oh, it could have been worse.
In the waiting room lobby, the people were friendly enough, but it had taken one very strange excuse to brush off what had happened in there, where a spirit in the form of a little girl touched him, and he jolted, curling into himself as she had stood there and laughed. Looking at a scrap of paper, Chichi finally found a certain door, and knocked, snagging her son (who was attempting to sneak away) by his sleeve.
"Yes?" a voice called from inside.
"Um, yes, I'm Chichi Son, I have an appointment,"
"Ah, right, come in!" the same voice responded, and the woman obeyed, pushing open the door.
The room was large and open, with a bookshelf full of books, a television, and a large desk inhabited by a man in his late fifties. Gohan wasn't sure what this man had been expecting when he offered the two of them a seat in front of his desk, but it obviously wasn't what he had gotten: a calm, silent obedience. He folded his hands in front of him on his desk, lacing his fingers together.
"Hello there, I'm Dr. Phillip Barnes, you must be Ms. Chichi." he reached across the desk to shake her hand.
"Yes."
"And this must be Gohan. Pleasure to meet you, my boy." Again, the hand was offered, but Gohan only stared at it, suspiciously, until it was withdrawn. "Very well, then. What seems to be the problem? I'd like to hear it in person."
Gohan remained silent, and would allow his mother to speak, it seemed to be what she wanted to do anyway. Take charge somehow, of something, anything. They both blinked when the doctor cut her off before she could begin.
"I would like to speak to the child, actually. Please don't be offended, Miss, but if you would go and wait until you're called, when we're finished, I would appreciate it."
Stunned, Chichi walked out, and Gohan stared pleadingly after her retreating back. This man made him feel as if he knew all of his secrets, knew all of his fears, knew all of his worries, and Gohan didn't like it one iota. The way he was watching him so intently made him uncomfortable and anxious. Dr. Barnes laced his fingers together again.
"So, Gohan." he began, voice mild, "What seems to be bothering you?"
Immediately, the boy closed up like a clam, and stared intently at his lap, before he muttered,
"I'm not crazy." in the doctor's general vicinity.
"Of course you're not. But you're worrying your mother so that she brought you here, and I'm here to try and get things straightened. From what I understand, you've been hallucinating-"
"THEY'RE NOT HALLUCINATIONS." Gohan hissed angrily, eyes sparking with indignation, quite possibly the only emotion he had allowed himself for quite a while. "You have no idea."
"Then tell me."
Gohan looked away, and refused to speak. Suddenly, he caught sight of Something, and he clenched his hands, beginning to feel the usual onslaught of cold begin to whip through his body. This was normal, he told himself. The only punishment fit for someone like him.
Twisted logic.
And they sat, the doctor asking continuously unanswered questions, for about an hour, until he glanced at the clock, knowing that they were getting absolutely nowhere. But Dr. Barnes was an incredibly patient man.
"Marion, could you send Miss Chichi into my office, now?" he inquired, pressing a button to the intercom on his desk, then releasing it. "Gohan, if you would please step outside." Getting to his feet, Gohan bowed slightly and obeyed. The doctor blinked. As angry as the child had gotten, and as angry as he was sure the boy still was, that bow had not been mocking, nor sarcastic. As her son exited the room, Chichi entered it, her face tight and slightly tear-streaked.
Sitting, she pulled out a handkerchief and wiped her eyes.
"So?" she choked out, "What's wrong with him?"
"I have no idea." Dr. Barnes told her, bluntly, "He wouldn't speak to me. He started to, then he saw something in the corner and wouldn't open his mouth."
Chichi let out a sob.
"What…. Would you suggest?"
"I would actually prefer that he take a short stay here, for a time. Whatever is effecting him needs to be stopped, and perhaps a change of scenery would be the thing to do it." He shook his head. "You'll notice, Miss Chichi, that our facilities are not cold and colorless. We have many children here, many who are much worse off, and this is as much a home for these children as it is a hospital. Could he stay tonight? I'd like to observe him."
Still quietly crying, the woman nodded, and handed him a capsule case.
"Bulma, who suggested this to me, said you might say that, so I brought this."
Dr. Barnes took it gently out of her hand, laying it on the desk.
"My dear girl, please, don't distress yourself so." he glanced up. "I believe that we have an eavesdropper." then, he called louder, "You may as well just come in." The door slid open silently, and Gohan reentered, looking completely stricken.
"You can't possibly be thinking of- no!" he protested, staring pleadingly at his mother, who refused to look at him. "Don't do this to me!" He couldn't meet her eyes, for Chichi had buried her face in her handkerchief again. "Please! You can't do this to me!" Of their own accord, tears unwillingly began to slip down his cheeks, and he stared at the both of them, a betrayed expression on his pale face. "Don't do this to me!" he begged, "I'm not crazy! I'm not….I'm not."
Catching sight of the spirit hanging around the desk and beginning to approach him, he completely broke down.
Wrapping his arms around himself protectively, Gohan collapsed to his knees, tucking his chin in, and fully allowing the tears loose.
"Stay away from me, all of you! I HATE YOU!" he cried angrily, cringing away from the hands reaching out to attempt to subdue him, "Get away! GET AWAY! I hate you!" Who he was yelling at was unclear. Whether it was Chichi, the doctor, or the menacing ghost, even he didn't know.
It was all so cold.
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"And this is your room," a smiling nurse told him, opening a door. Gohan didn't speak. His hands were bound, and though he could easily release himself, it was the principle of it that kept him in place. The room was nice as it all went, but rather small, and he could easily see himself getting cramped in it. But now was not the time for complaints. Silent, he walked inside, striding over to the bed and testing it.
Soft, and plush.
"If there's anything you need," the woman said sweetly, "Just ask for Connie, alright?" Gohan blinked at her. "I hope that we can be friends, since I'll be helping to take care of you."
Fat chance. Gohan muttered in his thoughts. Like hell.
He hoped that she would leave him be, soon.
He hoped that everyone would leave him be, soon.
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That room hadn't been suitable. Neither had the hallway, nor anywhere else. It wasn't like home, where things would only come out at night, and he would be fine during the day.
This was Hell.
It might have been because it was a hospital. It might have been because he really WAS crazy and imaging things. He hoped it wasn't that one.
Chichi hadn't been able to bear seeing him there, and had stopped coming after several weeks. He didn't blame her. He didn't want to be near himself either. After all, she was going to have another child soon, and suffice to say, even he didn't want his sibling to know about him.
Know about how his or her older brother was out of his mind and crazy. Know that his or her older brother was so unstable that he had to be kept somewhere else, out of the way.
He preferred that he was kept a complete secret, if at all possible.
Ever since that first day, he had refused to speak.
………….
"Here you go." the young man told him, handing him a plastic cup with a small pill in it. Gohan raised a brow at him in suspicion, and muttered something under his breath that was barely discernable. "Oh, don't worry. There shouldn't be any side-effects from it, but it's supposed to help. So, down the hatch."
Against his better judgment, Gohan obeyed, and was surprised to notice that they didn't have any immediate effect, good or bad, and thought, perhaps, that this might work, and he'd be home soon.
Later that day, his stomach cramped up, and he couldn't stop throwing up blood.
……………..
Since then, he had been taken off any and all medications. That drug had been tested over and over again in labs, and had never produced such a result in a human, but, then again, Gohan couldn't honestly say that he was human, could he?
That was the last time he'd ever taken anything that wasn't expressively food, to boot.
The room had proved unusable, in the fact that They weren't kept out like They were at home. They were free to go as They pleased, and They did. Gohan had expected the doctors to leave the issue be, believing him to be hallucinating when he flinched from things unseen and when he refused to come out from underneath the comforter wrapped about his small shoulders, and when he refused to allow anyone to touch him.
They didn't.
When Gohan had arrived, they had been adding onto the hospital, and he had been shocked when they built a room specifically for him.
They couldn't come in, and he didn't feel Them outside or in the hallway, not until later. They never entered his room. That had been the first time in several months that he had gotten more than two hours of uninterrupted sleep at one time, and he thrived, though he still refused to speak, or allow touch.
He had even gotten to help decorate, a fact that had thrown him for a loop.
The carpet was a bright, grassy green, the walls were blue, and the bed was covered in a cheerful, red comforter. Bookshelves lined the free walls, filled with books; textbooks, fantasy, fiction, mystery, history, nonfiction, you name it. In a corner, there were two large armchairs sitting on a red rug, along with a small table, and in another was a small sofa, big enough for one person, two if they were very good friends.
The bed was the strange bit. Gohan was rather like a cat, he preferred to be UP, and so even that was built to desire. The closet had been made more secure and sturdy than a bomb shelter, jutting out from the wall far enough so that the bed could be made atop it, with the closet itself inside and underneath. Ladders twined down from it, and a small lamp rest on a table next to it. A bathroom was connected, with a sink and mirror, a toilet, and a bathtub/shower. Two windows allowed to look to the outside world from his bed.
He hadn't left that room since he had moved in, and it had truly become his home, the only one he knew at the moment.
Gohan had been surprised as well, when the staff and doctors at New Hope Hospital had allowed him to grow his hair out long, as long as he kept it neat and well-maintained, and until he saw himself in the mirror, he didn't realize what a difference had been made. Between the regular eating (forced as it had been at first), the solitary training within a protective shield, and being left alone, he had finally put more some pounds on, though he was still underweight, and overall, he just LOOKED healthier.
But his eyes, his eyes….
He didn't know what had caused the change, but somehow they had morphed into a strangely beautiful and fascinating mix of sapphire blue and pure silver, expressive where his voice had died. He surprised his teachers by his grades despite his silence and lack of facial expression, and generally was fairly content.
However….
It hadn't been three weeks before They had begun entering the hallways. Before They had halted his walks out of his room, and he holed himself up. He couldn't hear them with his door shut, and slowly, Gohan built walls around himself that permitted no one.
It wasn't particularly personal.
Rather, he found that he actually LIKED Dr. Barnes, and he was especially fond of Connie, the kind, middle-aged nurse who had looked after him those first, traumatic days, and made a point of stopping in to see him, going out of her way to be his nurse, and generally being someone that Gohan trusted, as much as he trusted anyone these days.
Gohan didn't really care that he was slowly ceasing to refer to himself in his head as Gohan and Saiyan, as he always had, and had begun to integrate his two sides, something that people around him had tried to help him accomplish for years, and failed. He didn't mind that doctors were not permitted to learn his actual name, and that he was referred to by people by a number, #437. He found himself surprised that he didn't particularly mind.
But one thing still held him back.
He couldn't walk outside. The first time he had, after not having contact with them for several weeks, the encounter left him mentally and physically exhausted, and had set him back so far that he didn't know what to do with himself.
……………….
"So, about that 437 kid?" a new nurse inquired, tugging slightly on Connie's arm, and the woman smiled. They were walking past his door, and #437 had seemed unusually contemplative that morning when she had brought him breakfast, but other than that, his same old self. She blinked when his door slid open slightly, and he peered out, watching her, then retreated again. The new nurse blinked. "They just leave him like that to do what he wants?" Connie rested a hand on her hips.
"Well, the thing is, if not for one small problem, he'd be perfectly fine. He doesn't do any harm, nor need restraints, or medication. It's odd, he hasn't opened that door for ages….." she mused. The door suddenly slid open again, and #437 exited, and they could see his fame shivering slightly. They just didn't know what it was from.
For a few seconds, he was fine. Then, suddenly, he collapsed to his knees, wrapping his arms around himself. He didn't even notice when Connie knelt down and forgot not to touch him.
His skin was ice-cold, and a thin sheen of sweat coated his skin like a frost.
Gohan shuddered and allowed a sob to escape his lips.
"Get his doctor! NOW!" Connie ordered, looking slightly helpless at being unable to help him. She disregarded all rules that he had taught her himself about touch, and scooped him up, dashing for his room, and put him on the couch. Already he was beginning to improve.
The shivers were beginning to subside, and he wasn't holding himself so tightly, but the tears were still coming. Connie sat at his side, eyes not leaving him, even when #437's doctor entered the room and began to speak to his patient in low tones.
#437 froze.
Ebony eyes stared, wide-eyed at the information he was given, and then his face shifted into one of uncaring.
It wasn't until he was alone again that he broke down again, this time for completely different reason. This really WAS his home now, wasn't it? He didn't have anywhere else.
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The door slid open, and Gohan glanced up, expectant, from where he was sitting in one of his chairs, reading. The voice was been expected, after all, Dr. Barnes had mentioned that he was to meet his new doctor today.
In the doorway stood a tall man, holding a clipboard in one hand and wearing a standard white lab coat. Gohan, now almost ten, was rather surprised, for he looked so young, but nevertheless looked the man over, scrutinizing him. Black hair framed the man's face, only to be tied back around his shoulders in a short ponytail. Glasses encircled bright, startlingly green eyes, and the new doctor held a down-to-earth, gentle nature in his expression.
"Um…hi there, 437." the doctor said, looking nervous as he locked eyes with his patient. "Can I please come in?" Gohan blinked, surprised to be asked permission, and gave it, then abruptly stopped him, directing the man's attention to a pair of boots neatly lined up against the wall. "Take off my shoes?" The boy nodded. "Certainly, your place, your rules." Everything else was satisfactory, and the man sat down in the other chair, resting his hands on his lap. "I suppose I should introduce myself, correct?"
Gohan shrugged blandly, holding his book loosely in his hand.
"Well, my name is Harry Potter, and I'm your new doctor, as I'm sure you are aware. I'm twenty-four, and I just recently graduated from grad school about a month ago. I'm from Britain, and I went to a boarding school from when I was eleven to seventeen. I was raised with my relatives, and I used to get into a lot of fights as a child. I'm really looking forward to getting to know you, and I hope I can help in some way. You're my first patient I've ever had, so I hope we'll be friends." The doctor told him, relaxing suddenly.
Gohan supposed that he really wasn't like most patients, in the fact that, other than the Things that he saw, there was nothing really wrong with him.
"You feel like telling me anything about yourself?"
Absolutely not.
"Well, that's fine, you don't have to say anything if you don't want to. I'm here to help, not stress you out, okay, 437? You know what?"
Gohan shook his head, curious.
"Calling you #437 is really quite impersonal, and they never refer to anyone by their real names here, for confidentiality, I was wondering, is there anything else that you would rather I call you?" Harry inquired, and Gohan met his eyes, startled, then contemplated on it, and then nodded.
He never really liked that number anyway.
"Really? Want to tell me?"
Nice try, buddy. Gohan raised a brow in slight admonition.
"Okay then, how about I start off by listing names, and you tell me if you like them or not, deal?" Gohan nodded, and Harry smiled, an honest look, "You look Asian, are you Japanese?"
He nodded again, feeling no harm in these questions, only genuine curiosity. Harry chewed slightly on his lower lip, staring at the ceiling for a bit, then began listing names, ticking them off on his fingers.
"Um, lets see….Akira, Aki, Yuki, Haruka, Shigeru, Sousuke, Hajime, Hikaru, Satoru, Ashura-"Gohan, liking the feel of the name, stopped him, holding up a hand. "You like the name Ashura?" Harry inquired, and received a nod and a tiny, almost nonexistent smile from his new patient. "Good. Then I'll call you Ashura, and on the papers I'll put #437. It's nice, it fits you." He leaned back in the chair, "Is there anything you want to do? After all, I'll be coming to see you every day, I'd like to have some idea of what you like to do. Obviously, you like to read. Your room is very colorful, do you like to draw?" Gohan nodded tentatively, "Me too, it was one of the few things I was good at when I was a kid, you know." With a tilt of his head, the boy blinked. "Yeah, tell me about it."
Harry made some one-sided small talk for a bit, and suddenly, Gohan got to his feet, padding across the thick carpet to a bookshelf, running a slim finger over several titles, before picking one out and handing it to his new doctor, before sitting down and returning to his own book. He almost expected Harry to protest at being expected to read a children's book, supposedly (The Phantom Tollbooth) and not getting right to 'treatment', but he didn't. Harry only blinked at the cover as if he never seen it before (who HADN'T read that book anyway, as a child, really?), then smiled slightly and opened it, beginning to read.
When the winds of change begin to blow, only the most perceptive notice and take action.
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Journal entry #215
I'm not sure what it is about him that draws me close. I don't know why I feel like I want to seek his approval. When he talks to me, I don't know why I want to speak up and tell him. I'm so stupid. What the hell am I thinking? He won't understand. Mother didn't understand. Bulma didn't understand. Even Dr. Barnes doesn't understand, and neither would Connie. I just know it.
So why do I regret it?
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"So, 'Shura, what would you like to do today?"
It was a bright, cool day in April when this question was sprung, and Harry walked in, immediately taking off his shoes and sitting down in a chair. Gohan was perched up on his bed, drawing in a pad Connie had given him, but glanced up when Harry spoke. He hoped Harry didn't notice his nerves, the man was almost irritatingly perceptive of the silent boy's body language.
Gohan had deliberately not looked up when Harry entered, attempting to get the man's attention subtly, and Harry had picked up on it. Looking concerned, he climbed about halfway up the ladder, resting his arms and bracing himself on the mattress.
"Are you alright? You don't look like yourself. Something's up, what's wrong?"
Gohan shook his head.
He couldn't do this.
He couldn't.
He watched those worried green eyes, and then abruptly made up his mind.
"I…." he couldn't help it, he choked, his throat tight and unused to speaking, and it was hoarse and raspy. It hurt. Gohan suddenly edged backwards, afraid of how his doctor would react, but was gratified when the man remained calm.
"Yes?"
"I…I want…to talk." he hadn't said a word in an entire year.
"That's good." Harry murmured quietly, continuing to give his patient space that he knew he needed, "Would you like me to get you some water? I'm sure that your throat hurts."
Staring at his bedspread, Gohan nodded.
"….please."
"Of course." Harry left for a bit, and Gohan buried his face in his hands, rubbing at his eyes.
What on Earth was he doing?
The man returned.
"Here you go," he said, and handed Gohan a glass of cool water, which the boy accepted, gratefully. As he drank it, he could feel his throat loosening up, and he felt that he could speak without rasping or hacking.
"Now, you wanted to talk?"
Gohan always wondered how Harry could be so gentle in a profession like this. Over the last year, he had had many doctors, all different, but they had all had one thing in common: They always kept a part of themselves hidden, and were always guarded when they spoke. Be it from stress, or even from a failure with a previous patient, it always varied. Gohan supposed it was because Harry was new and that this was his first real job, but he was so open and genuine, but though he was so, there was something about him that made one realize that he had seen horrors too, and that all he really wanted to do was help.
"Yes."
"Anything in particular?"
Harry had the strange ability to push him, without actually pushing him, and Gohan suddenly felt something twist in his chest. What if he didn't believe him? What if the one person who always seemed to trust him thought he really WAS crazy, and decided that he was a waste of time, and decided that he didn't want to help him anymore, and-
"Yes."
"What is it? I'm listening." Gohan laced his fingers together, something he had picked up from Dr. Barnes after a while, and his gaze drifted to the clipboard and pencil Harry had set on the table. "You know that there aren't any cameras in here, and I swear, that what you tell me now and anytime will be kept secret if you wish it that way."
"I want… I want to tell you my secret."
Now or never.
Harry leaned closer.
"Okay. What is your secret?"
Could you come closer?" Gohan inquired, eyebrows furrowing together in distress.
"Of course." The doctor obeyed, and Gohan licked his lips nervously, feeling suddenly incredibly small in the large chair that he was inhabiting. Exhaling, he leaned forward until his lips were almost to Harry's ear, and whispered, staggeringly,
"I…..I see things."
"Things like what?"
He couldn't stop now.
"Terrible things, like people. Whenever I leave this room, I see them. They're hurt, and disturbed, and they don't know that they're dead. They walk around, and for some reason, they only see me. They try to hurt me. I keep telling them to leave me alone. They don't go away, they want to hurt me, to hurt like they do." Gohan's voice dropped down, and it could still barely be heard, even as close as they were, "They tell me to come with them."
"Have you ever gone?" Harry was almost unnervingly calm, almost infuriatingly calm. Why wasn't he reacting the way expected-? "Have you ever tried to go with them?"
"Never." Gohan insisted, "They scare me. I'll look like them. I know it. This room is new, I'm the first person in it. That's why I don't want to leave. Can you help me? You're the only one who can--help me, please, just help me-! No one else would believe me!" His voice shook, and his hands were clenching almost spasmodically, against his will.
"Of course I believe you, and I'll try." Soothing, "Now that I know what's wrong, I'll try my hardest to help you. Can you hang on until I can?"
The boy nodded, timid.
"I'll try."
"Good. Do you want me to leave now?"
"No."
No change. Not now. Not right after this, not so soon.
"So, what do you want to do?'
"Can we just read?"
"Sure."
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I'm rather surprised, even at myself. I could never imagine feeling this good a year ago, and even Dr. Barnes has noticed. For some reason, that really makes me happy. I mean, I know that it's his job to help me, but he's not usually of observant of me, is it that obvious? It's stupid, but lately I've really been wanting to go outside again. I haven't seen sunlight outside of a window in around a year, it's ridiculous.
I suppose it's okay for me to be vaguely childish for once in my life, this one time.
God damn ghosts.
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"What do you want to do today, Ashura?"
Gohan glanced up when his doctor spoke, and allowed a small smile to curl at his lips.
"Guess what, doctor?"
"What?"
Harry sounded almost unnaturally amused, and the boy found his nature contagious.
"Nurse Connie was the lunch nurse today, and she brought me a cupcake!" His voice wasn't so much normal as it was a cheery-sounding chirp. The smallest things were able to please him lately, and he found himself pondering things beyond his books, and beyond his doors.
"Oh really? And what kind of cupcake was it?"
"Chocolate with blue icing!"
"Sounds fun."
"It was!"
"Did you talk to her?"
"No." Gohan's face closed, "But I DID draw her a picture, and that seemed to make her happy."
"I'm sure it did. So, what do you want to do today?"
"Um…" Gohan fidgeted.
"Yes?"
"You said you wanted to help me, right?" he inquired tentatively, bringing back up his nervous habit of clenching his hands and lacing his fingers.
Harry nodded.
"More than anything."
"Can we….can we go for a walk?" Harry blinked.
"If you want to. Where do you want to go?"
"Anywhere, it doesn't matter." Gohan responded, getting to his feet and grabbing a pair of boots that sat by the door. It would be an understatement to say that he hadn't needed them in a while. "Will you make sure they don't get me?" God, he felt childish.
"Of course I will. My favorite patient is by no means going to be taken by creepy people on my watch." Gohan knew that was said as a dorky joke, and not to take it seriously, but couldn't help it, he couldn't help thinking that Harry really was true for his word.
"I'm your only patient." Once again, true.
"I think that if I had more than one, you'd still be my favorite."
"Don't let Dr. Barnes hear you say that," the boy chastised mildly, "He'll get you for it."
"Not if he doesn't find out!"
"Meh."
After they had their shoes on, Harry rested his hand on the doorknob, watching his patient.
"You ready?"
"Yes." Just before the man could slide open the door, Gohan edged closer suddenly and reached out a hand to grab Harry's, a childish gesture that he was rather ashamed of himself for, and one that he couldn't look his doctor in the eye for. Harry didn't say a word, only, closed his fingers around those smaller ones, and squeezed, gently.
They exited.
The cold was beginning to wash over him again. That cold that he hadn't experienced in so long, the cold that had once been able to bring him to his knees. Gohan shuddered and pressed himself close, clinging to Harry's hand like a lifeline, clenching his free fingers into Harry's pant leg. To his credit, the man stayed calm.
"Is something there?" he inquired calmly, and Gohan nodded, numbly.
"Yes."
"What is it?"
"It's a Girl. A lot older than me. She's blue, and She has all these cuts down Her arms. Her eyes are cut out, and She's holding a picture of a boy. She says She hates me." the child answered, eyes wide.
"Ask her why." Harry told him, gently, and Gohan couldn't respond. "I know you're scared, but try and ask her why she hates you."
"…..why do you hate me?" the boy's voice was so quiet, but he almost didn't hear himself.
…..because you don't understand….you can see me here….you don't hurt at all……you need to hurt too…..
"What did she say?"
"She says that she hates me because I can see her and I'm alive and she hurts so much and I don't. Are you lonely?" Gohan asked, in an almost morbid fascination, "Is that why you're so angry? Because I'm the only one who can see you and I'm alive? You don't like being alone?"
…..yes…… you need to feel this pain…..it hurts……..
Gohan tilted his head up to meet Harry's eyes, hands still firmly where they were.
"She says yes. What do I do?"
"What would you say to someone who is alive?"
"I'm sorry that you're scared, and sad, and mad. I'm sorry that you're in so much pain. Why do you hurt so badly? How did you die?"
……he hurt me……more than I ever hurt myself……hurt me in the worst way……threw me in the river…..
The child's eyes suddenly widened. "She says that she used to cut herself, and that her boyfriend raped and drowned her. I don't know how to help you, please don't follow me anymore. You scare me. I don't like it when you follow me, please don't do it anymore." His voice shook.
She reached out a ghostly hand suddenly, and She pressed it to his forehead, in a strange gesture that looked almost like caring, and Gohan flinched, before he let go of Harry's pant leg and reached out as well, touching Her hand.
……. I am sorry……just….someone understand…..
"It's okay. There are other people here, people who can understand you. I forgive you." He trailed off, and then leaned against Harry's legs. "She's gone, and she said that she was sorry for scaring me."
"Are you angry with her?"
Gohan shook his head.
"She couldn't help how she felt. She was so hurt, and she wanted someone else to know it, but she said that she didn't mean to scare me so badly, and so it's okay. I would be hurt and angry too." He gripped Harry's hand tighter. "Doctor Harry?"
"Yes?"
"Do you think that she'll be okay?"
"I think, Ashura, that she should be just fine."
"Do you think that we can make them all go away, and be happy? They can't help being dead, they need to be happy too, or at least understood."
"I agree. I don't know if we can make them all go away, but I agree with you."
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Journal entry #475
I forgot how good sunlight feels. A few days after that, we went outside and took a long walk, and I couldn't believe how much I missed it all. Who would have thought that something as simple as sunlight could possibly make such a difference? Oh well, Harry says it's natural to feel like that, and he would know, right? I probably shouldn't count on him so much, methinks.
At least, that's what Saiyan would have told me.
I'm happy, though, because my saiyan side and my human side are becoming less separate, but I don't feel like myself lately, like there's neither Saiyan but there's no Gohan either, nor #437. I don't know myself anymore, I don't even know who I am, not at all.
I think I should probably be more worried about it, but I can't honestly say that I am.
My mother gave up on me, and so did Bulma. I don't think they even told anyone else. I am who I am, and I don't think that I'm Gohan. Something out there changed me that day, first in the hallway, and then that first step outside, and I don't think that it's a bad change.
You know, I think I might just start calling myself Ashura.
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Gohan was surprised one afternoon, when Harry came in and looked nervous. He never looked nervous, never since that first day, when he obviously hadn't been quite sure what to do. The boy found himself rather wary of the whole thing. Gohan watched him closely as he scaled the ladder up to the boy's bed, resting his elbows on the mattress.
"Um, Ashura?"
"Hai?"
"Can I come up?" Harry asked, fidgeting, and Gohan nodded, scooting over.
"You're already halfway up, but sure. Come on."
Quiet, the man pulled himself up. Gohan fidgeted, feeling and seeing his startlingly green eyes on him, watching him, surveying him.
"Do you like it here?"
Gohan blinked. That was an unusual question, even for Harry, who rarely asked things like that, even during a regular session. Lacing his fingers together, the boy stared at them.
"I do and I don't. I miss my mother, but everyone's very nice to me here, and you're here, and I can finally go outside, and I love my room, and-"
"That isn't what I meant." Harry interrupted. That was unusual as well. "What I meant was, do you want to leave here?"
"And go where?" Gohan shot back, tilting his head. "It was made perfectly clear to me that mother didn't want me back, and were I to leave, I would have nowhere to go. But hypothetically, yes, I would like to leave. Why? Where are you going with this?"
"Well…I just got back from a meeting today, and it was…it was all approved, and things would work if I had your full and willing consent, and…. Um…"
"WHAT are you talking about?" Gohan was becoming impatient now, unused to Harry being stuttery and uneasy, and he was incredibly curious now as what he getting at.
Harry took a deep breath.
"I asked the board of directors today…about you. I asked if I could….If I could, well, if I could adopt you, as my son."
Gohan froze. About a million different feelings swirled about him, showing blatantly on his face, and suddenly he closed off.
"Are you sure? If you're doing this because you feel bad for me, then don't waste your breath, it wouldn't be fair. Besides, didn't you read the report? Even if I know how to deal with Them, in a different place- I don't know. Are you sure you really want me?"
Harry nodded.
"More than anything. I'm not very decisive, but I'm sure about this." Harry shook his head, small smile on his face. "I want nothing more."
Gohan rested his face in his hands, before glancing up.
"You're very, very sure?"
"Incredibly." A gigantic grin began to form on the boy's features. "And your answer?"
"Of course, of course, of course!" Gohan shouted gleefully, "You're serious, you're really serious! Of course, of course, of course!" Harry was relieved, and let out a thrilled sigh.
"I'm so happy that you like the idea."
"Like the idea? I LOVE the idea! I can finally get out of here!" Throwing away his sense of maturity, Gohan lunged forward and flung his arms around Harry's neck, burying his face in the man's shoulder. "Thank you so much. Thank you, thank you, thank you…." he murmured, shocking himself by the tears threatening to spill, and the man held him close, burying his face in the Gohan's hair.
"We'll go anywhere, you know." He said quietly, "And you'll breathe the air of higher places."
I am Ashura.
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FINITE
OWARI