The squeaking of the springs would have been enough to drive a normal person insane, so maybe it was a good thing that the occupant of the bed wasn't quite mentally stable. He'd sit on the edge of the bed and bounce it, the springs groaning underneath him, eventually giving off the squeaking noise that he always seemed to be counting. Over and over again, he'd have the noise make its cycles, and after nine times he'd jump to his feet and gleefully laugh, before sitting back down and doing it all over again.
To say that maybe there was a slight mental disturbance within Trent would have been true years before, but his numerical obsession had gone past being able to be called anything "slight." Everything had to be done in nines, or else he would panic and start visibly freaking out until the situation was fixed and whatever had been done could be counted out in a multiple of his perfect number. It wasn't healthy at all, and everyone who knew and cared about him knew this, which was why he had been placed in a mental health facility for the time being, for thirty-six days (it was only supposed to be a thirty day hold, but he insisted it go to the multiple of nine). He was maybe halfway through his treatment, and while no visible progress had been made in returning him to his former glory of a guitar-playing guy with no real mental disabilities, he at least wasn't referring to the number as his girlfriend anymore. That had been an ugly amount of time, and had greatly fed into him being placed in the facility.
Footsteps. They echoed through the silent hallway, a strange noise to accompany the squeaking springs, as the workers at the facility all knew to keep their steps as quiet as possible. After counting to nine squeaks once more, Trent jumped to his feet and looked out the door to his room, which had been left open by one of the workers who had told him that he was to expect a visitor sometime that day. This was the first time anyone had come to see him since his arrival, and he had no honest clue who it could be.
Of all the people possible, the duo who showed up outside the door were not the ones he expected. "I'm going to write whoever put you in here a strongly worded letter about how you can't put someone in a mental health facility without their consent. I'm sure that you're perfectly fine, and now that we've found you, we're going to break you out." That was Courtney, talking a mile a minute and trailing off into some legal nonsense that Trent couldn't find it in him to follow. He watched as she was blinking her eyes, giving a small bounce of excitement whenever she had blinked nine times.
The other person there, looking warily at Trent like maybe she understood why he was where he was, grabbed Courtney's arm after a few minutes of her legal spiel. "Listen, I don't think this is such a good idea. I mean, yeah, Chris wants him out of here for show purposes, but since when do we listen to Chris McLean?"
"We listen to him, Gwen, when he promises us payment for bringing him the most interesting ex-contestant of all. One that hasn't done anything to deserve the hell he's been given." Grinning, Courtney pushed the door to the room open a bit more, motioning for Trent to follow her out—and he did, after she had made the hand motion nine times. "See, he's perfectly normal. No twitching, no babbling, nothing. He's mentally as fit as a fiddle."
Gwen gave him a wary look. "I don't know, he seems to still be all about thing being done in increments of that number. Haven't you noticed how he's just watching you? It's a bit creepy and pretty deserving of needing this place."
"I think it's flattering to be looked at by anyone, so I don't see the problem. You're clearly still harboring hard feelings towards him about your breakup, so why don't you let me make the decisions here." Courtney's grin got bigger as she extended a hand towards Trent, who grabbed it and returned her smile at her. "That's the spirit there, bud. Now let's get you out of here before someone notices."
"Yeah, let's do that." His voice was shaky, having not really said much in the way of words to anyone in days, but the way Courtney seemed to enjoy him agreeing with her made him happy to have spoken. "Let's get out of here." Gwen, noticing exactly how many words he had said, tried to make another comment about how this was a bad idea, but Courtney wouldn't hear anything of it.
That was how they broke someone out of a mental health care facility, and promptly realized that he was there for a reason. As they were making their getaway, he'd cheer for every ninth everything they passed, and insist that they'd stop every time they had passed nine gas stations, or nine restaurants, or really nine of anything. By the time they'd made it an hour away, even Courtney was wanting to turn around and take him back, but she wasn't going to let Gwen have the ultimate "I told you so" moment there.
At the very least, once they got Trent to where Chris was, he wasn't going to be their problem anymore; or, anyway, that was what they had thought. But then, after delivering Trent to the man who had asked for him, Chris decided to reveal that they had only been doing his bidding for another season of Total Drama, and they were going to be on the same team…
The squeaking of the bed would have been a much more welcome noise than the sound of someone mentally unhinged constantly talking about nines.
A/N: I hope this is a good 2nd chance fic for you, RedEyedWarrior! c: