"When you hold your breath underwater, thinking you'll be fine, as long as you can reach the surface, your wrong," He said quietly as he nipped at his already stub thumb nail, "The body has a 'shut down' phase that kicks in when you've been under for too long, like if you were being drowned," He looked dazed and out of focus "You get a killer headache before your body starts to shut down, one by one, your organs realize that they aren't getting oxygen . . . So they stop working."
He leans forward, his body loose and slouching over on his elbows as he leans on the table; fiddling with his pale slim fingers. "Then, you're out. Unconscious . . . Until someone pulls you out and gives you breath, like being born, they don't just save you, the give life to you," He looks at his fingers unfocused, the small amount of light from the window make his eyes almost seem black.
"I'm just waiting for something to happen, something strange. You couldn't explain it, even if you wanted too," He glances up shortly, "And you feel like you've been losing a winning battle," his eyes trail back down to his fingers which stopped looping each other. "Mr. Stilinski, your vast knowledge surprises me," The Doctor says, "But this doesn't explain to me what it is that put you here," She gestured around the small stone room.
"When someone is labeled, that label sticks to them until they die, maybe even then," He says ignoring her "Have you been to a 'wake' where someone steps up to the casket and says something that was relevant years prior?" He asks as he begins to mingle his fingers, "Like a nickname" he pauses and looks at the small window, "I have . . . several times,"
He faces the doctor, "Tell me where you would draw the line?" his voice drops and is husk, slightly raspy. The doctor pushes her glasses up slightly and looks down at the file in front of her. She studies it carefully. "8 months and 6 days," He says looking back down at his fingers, "You people are supposed to know what's wrong, it's in your description," He muses without a smile. The Doctor looks at him, she leans forward and touches a hand to his arm, his grey sweat shirt feeling rough under her fingers.
"We both lost someone," She patted her hand gently on his forearm and pulled away, "It may be true that we should know the cause and effect," She closed his file, "But only you know what's in your head," she removed her glasses and looked at the younger male. His eyes a beautiful translucent brown; only when in the light, when shaded they almost seem black.
"I'm tired," he said, sounding distant, "I want to sleep and just stay asleep for awhile," He shakes his head weakly. She gives him a great sigh and nods her head, "Alright, let's get you back to you room," She stood up and took the files from the table. He followed behind her quietly, like he always has. When he leaves that room, he never says a word, doesn't even try. He'll notice things, yes, but he'll never speak, not while he's out in the open.
She walked him down the hall where the windows where larger than life, she walked this way with him, and only him. She'd noticed how he liked to see the outside world, the clouds that would roll in, or even the others playing outside. They walked through double doors to an open space, like a breeze way, or an inner courtyard; with few tables and chairs. She lead him an open door, "I won't see you tomorrow, someone else will see you until I return," she whispers as she watches him walk passed her and into the small room. He didn't respond, and she expected that. "Get some rest," She mumbled as she shut the door.
He looked at his bunker, the small metal frame that was his bed and the sink that was glued to the wall beside it. It looked like a prison cell. That was the idea when these places where built. He sat down for a moment, then swung his legs up and lay down.
He stared at the ceiling until he slowly drifted off into sleep.
"Hello little one, I was looking for you," a feminine voice said softly, "Why are you hiding down there?" she questioned with a smile, "Oh, you're hiding from your father?" She said, "Well let me join you, may I hide with you?"
A face seemingly familiar, a voice that pulled at his heart; and a smile he wouldn't forget. Yet, he found himself trying to remember, too see.
"Don't cry child, I'll always protect you," she smiled
How hurtful, He shot up from his bed, his breath caught on the lump in his throat. I rubbed his hands to his face, wiping the tears and their trails.
He then rubbed a hand down his neck, sighing. His eyes wanting to desperately close, while his head is screaming to keep them open "Stilinski," he looked a guard held the door open, "It's time," the guard said. He sighed one last time as he stood up and followed the guard out. They walked the same hallway he took the other day to return to his room. The guard didn't walk as slow as the doctor, she allowed him to see out the windows as they walked. They guards where more 'work and no play.'
They opened the door to another room, the room he was in yesterday. He was looking down as he walked in, he wasn't looking forward to this, since it wasn't the person he was used to seeing. He took his seat and rested his head on the cold metal. Not caring and not noticing who or what was sitting in front of him.
"He doesn't like strangers, and you'll have to usually pry information out of him," The guard said, "Nice piece of advice Guard 34, I know your personal record, and trust me, I'm not the one with a problem with strangers," He said almost muffled being that his chin was almost pressed to his chest while he keep his head to the table. The guard huffed and mumbled something as he closed the door as he left.
"What a jackass," He lifted his head. He was taken back by what he saw. A young man, maybe 3 or 4 years older than himself; dark hair and muscles like you wouldn't believe. His eyes where a light hazel, maybe green, and stubble. Like a permanent 5 o'clock shadow. He smiled at the younger male. Not a toothy smile, but a smile nonetheless.
He favored the loose Hanley shirt he wore that expose his collar bone nicely . . . Wait, no. That wasn't happening. "Hi," He opened the file, "Stiles?" He asked, looking questioningly at the younger man, "Uh, yeah, that's my nickname," Stiles said, feeling rather stupid for telling the Doc that that was his nickname, he didn't need to know that. "What's your real name?" He asked looking through all the papers, "That's classified information," Stiles slipped, when he realized what he said he cleared his throat and leaned back in his chair. He stared down at his fingers, toying with them. "I see," The man says. "You've been here for -"
"8 months and 7 days," Stiles said, cutting him off. "Right, and you've been having sessions with Dr. McCall," He glance up at Stiles, "Yeah," He mumbled.
"I'm Dr. Hale,"