Disclaimer: I don't own Static Shock!
Summary: AU! Virgil Hawkins is a 19-year-old boy whose struggled with anorexia nervosa for years. After a near-death experience, he's sent to a psychiatric facility where he is re-taught how to live. While there, he meets Richie Foley, a man who is very messed up in the head. The two roommates are in for a long stay, so they'll need to find some way to get along.
Warnings: None yet. Mostly just cussing, psychiatric hospital, and various mental disorders.
A/N: So... A new fic... Even though I haven't finished my last one. :D But it's going to be a good one, so bear with me!
"All right, everyone, that's all for today." The group therapy room slowly began to empty of occupants as Jade, the nurse who mediated the sessions, said goodbye to each of the patients before they went back to their rooms. "Virgil," she beckoned the young man over. "You're getting a new roommate today. His name is Richie and he should be here any minute"
Virgil nodded, but didn't say anything. He wrapped his arms around himself, ever shivering, even through three sweaters. He stared at the floor and traced patterns into the tile with the toe of his sneaker.
Jade sighed. "You're going to have to start talking if you want to get better, Virgil." He shrugged. "All right, go on back to your room." When he turned and walked away, Jade shook her head in sadness. Virgil had so much potential. He was smart, he had a wonderful sense of humor, he was kind. He just refused to talk about his issues.
She watched as Virgil had to pause halfway down the hallway in order to catch his breath. He swayed a little on the spot, making Jade inhale sharply, thinking that he was going to collapse again. But a thin, bony hand emerged from the folds of his sweaters to steady himself against the wall before his legs could give out.
When she was convinced that he was all right, Jade turned and walked down the hallway towards the nurses' station, letting her mind wander. Virgil Hawkins, age 19, had been struggling with anorexia nervosa for almost eight years now. This wasn't his first hospitalization, and, at the rate he was going, it wouldn't be his last. He had been here for a little over two months now and had yet to speak a single word. The staff had managed to get his weight from a deadly 74 pounds up to 105, but he still had a long way to go.
"Group go all right, Jade?" asked the nurse behind the desk.
"The same as always. A little tears, a little yelling, a tantrum or two. Could you hand me Virgil's file please, Laura?"
"Here you go."
"Thanks." Jade shuffled through the papers in the manila folder. "Is his new roommate in yet?"
"Yeah, they've got him over in Intake. I heard yelling earlier, so they might have had to sedate him."
Jade groaned as she filled out a few blanks on a document. "I don't think it's helping Virgil to be having another rowdy roommate like that. Especially after Kyle's death last week."
"You know my motto, Jade: take it up with the boss."
"I know, I know." She closed the file and handed it back over to Laura. "They should be done over there, right? I want to check this kid out."
"Good luck. You'll need it."
"Gee, thanks."
Jade walked past the nurses' station and continued down the hall towards the intake room. She had heard a few things about the new patient, and none of them were good. A few days ago, the psychiatrist she worked under had told her that he felt Jade was the only nurse on the ward that could give the patient what he needs to get better. So Richie was her patient. No pressure.
Virgil sat on his bed, writing in his journal. All the nurses were always asking him what he was writing about, but they should know by now that he wasn't one to go around talking about his personal thoughts. Besides, there was no way that he was going to show anyone a book filled with numbers. His numbers meant everything to him. Calories, pounds, meals. It was all in the numbers.
A rustle from the bed next to him caused Virgil to freeze. His new roommate had been brought in, sedated, about an hour ago. The newcomer began to groan and shift around in his bed as he began to wake.
"Ugh… Fuck. Where am I?"
Virgil sat as still as a statue and watched the blond-haired man – could he really be called a man? He was the same age as Virgil – out of the corner of his eye. He felt his heart start to race and he struggled to stay calm. This person reminded him so much of Kyle, his last roommate. Needless to say, that friendship hadn't ended so well, what with the schizophrenic Texan's suicide mere weeks ago.
"So they told me your name's Virgil," said the man as he sat up. He crossed his arms over his chest. Virgil caught a flash of white during the movement. Bandages. "I'm Richie," the man continued. "Histrionic Personality Disorder served with a side of Cotard's Syndrome, and a freshly squeezed dose of PTSD for dessert." He looked Virgil up and down with a smirk on his face. "Not too difficult to guess why you're here, though. What's the story behind it? What's the 'skeleton in the closet,' no pun intended."
Virgil bit his lip and gripped his journal tightly. Ignore him. He'll leave soon enough. Everyone else does, so he will, too.
Richie jumped up and crossed the gap between the beds in two steps. He grabbed Virgil's collar and yanked, so that the frail teenager was forced to look at him. Virgil gasped in surprise and pain at the sudden movement. His eyes grew wide as he stared into the face of his new roommate.
Richie's eyes were a deep blue, but the whites were dotted with red blood vessels, as if he hadn't slept in days. His mouth was curled into a menacing grimace, obviously fabricated to scare Virgil, which it was doing a good job of. The most startling features on the pale face, however, were the large, red cuts that adorned each cheek. There were three on the left and four on the right, and all seven were held shut with butterfly bandages.
"Not a talker, are we?" spat Richie as he leaned in closer. Virgil squeezed his eyes shut. Richie released his grip and shoved Virgil back. "Great," he mumbled. "I got some pussy for a roommate."
Virgil pulled his legs into his chest and leaned back against his headboard. He kept his eyes closed and his head down until he heard Richie get bored and leave the room. As soon as the door clicked shut, Virgil uncurled his body and reached for his notebook. Tears stinging the backs of his eyes, he fervently scribbled number after number after number.
The patients were gathered around the television later that evening, watching reruns of Touched by an Angel. Things were going smoothly, for the most part, until Richie snatched the remote from Francis, another patient, and changed channels.
"Hey, what the fuck, man?!" exclaimed Francis over the protests of the other patients. "Change it back, asshole." He reached to grab the remote back, but Richie held it just out of reach.
"Now why would I want to do that, hot stuff?" he said with a flirtatious smile. "That show is crap. Wouldn't you much rather be watching something more… interesting?" His half-lidded eyes were staring daggers into Francis, making him uncomfortable.
Another patient piped up, "Come on, dude. Just give it back."
"Can it, Adam," snapped Francis. "I got this. He can't be that tough. He's just another rich boy who cuts himself because he can't handle all the pressure that mommy and daddy are –"
His words were cut off by a strong backhand administered by Richie. Francis fell to the floor from his seat on the couch and clutched his face. An angry fire lit up his eyes as he jumped up and dropped into a fighter's stance. Richie calmly stood and placed a hand on his hip.
"Come on, now, Hot Stuff," he said smoothly. "You don't want to concern the nurses now, do you?" The group looked around nervously, but saw that none of the staff on duty were actually paying attention.
Turning back to face Richie, Francis lowered his hands slightly, but didn't relax his stance. "You don't want to mess with me, dude," he warned. "I'm manic today. And anyone here can tell you that I get violent pretty easily when I'm manic."
Richie's eyes lit up and he smiled. "Oh, so we have a Bipolar in the house, do we?" He crossed his arms over his chest, briefly bringing attention to the bandages that coated them from wrist to elbow. "Type 1 or 2? I'm assuming rapid-cycling, seeing as you're manic 'today' rather than 'this week' or 'this month.' Am I right?"
"I'm warning you," Francis spat. "Fuck off. If you don't want to watch the stupid show, then just piss off and let us be."
"Why would you even want to watch that shit?" Richie's eyes narrowed. "It's not even realistic!"
"Like you would know what realistic is."
"Listen, dickwad," Richie said menacingly. He stepped forward. "You don't even want to hear about some of the things I know. You want me to tell you why the show is a fucking joke? Because it's all a lie. Angel of Death? Please, if only. There is no light, there are no angels. You want to know how I know? I was in a car accident. High speed, maximum impact. They tried to save me, but there was nothing they could do." He leaned his face in until it was mere inches from Francis. "I know because I've been dead for months, Hot Stuff."
There was a split second of silence before Freida, a patient from the women's wing, began to cry, disturbed by Richie's words. Francis backed away from Richie, his eyes wide.
"Dude, you are fucked up," he said shakily. "Seriously fucked up. That's crazy talk."
"Crazy, am I?!" Richie's shout finally got the attention from the nurses and security guards. "You don't even know how crazy I can get! You know what? I bet you're just as crazy as me! You're all crazy here! I mean, look at you!" He gestured about the room. "My roommate is fucking starving himself, there's some bitch over there staring off into space, and I hear that this guy over here claims to have other people in his head!" Richie turned back towards Francis, not able to stop his rant even though security guards were already moving towards him. "But you, oh, you're the craziest of all. You're not even sick, are you? You're just some immature kid who can't deal with a little fucking sadness every now and then. It's time to face the facts, Hot Stuff! Welcome to life! Sucks, doesn't it?! So, if you can't handle it, go jump off a fucking bridge!"
Two male nurses came on either side of Richie and grabbed his arms, causing him to struggle. "Let me go, you fuckers!" He was shouting and kicking as he was dragged down the hall until a nurse was able to stick a sedative-filled needle into his leg.
A/N: So there it is! :D Just a few clarifications for those of you who may be confused:
- Histrionic Personality Disorder: a personality disorder characterized by a pattern of excessive emotionality and attention-seeking, including an excessive need for approval and inappropriately seductive behavior. These individuals are lively, dramatic, vivacious, enthusiastic, and flirtatious. (Straight from wikipedia. XD)
- Cotard's Delusion (Cotard's Syndrome, Walking Corpse Syndrome): a rare mental disorder in which people hold a delusional belief that they are dead (either figuratively or literally), do not exist, are putrefying, or have lost their blood or internal organs.
- Rapid-cycling Bipolar: A sub-category of Bipolar Disorder defined as having four or more episodes per year and is found in a significant fraction of individuals with bipolar disorder. (For the sake of the story, Francis will have Ultra-rapid-cycling bipolar, so that we can see more mood swings.)