1968 - October

After a seeming eternity of physical therapy in Dr. Heath's unit, Tate was finally being transferred back to the main ward. He couldn't be happier. Long ago he'd grown tired of being managed with the IV feed. He and the doctor had butted heads several times over his treatment, and Tate had found himself tied to the bed 24-7 despite having mastered walking again—or because of it. Often he had been sedated but many times in recent days the doctor had left him awake for hours, in four-point restraint, with nothing to do but stare at the ceiling.

The doctor's interest in his new patient had waned significantly as it became apparent the surgery was a complete success. Tate was too high-profile a case to tinker with much at this point and Heath was only interested in patients he could modify. Having a new and attractive nurse on hand was a distraction to him as well, one Tate witnessed first-hand as he was being strapped to the gurney that would carry him back through the underground tunnels to the main building.

"Doctor," the pretty nurse simpered. "I don't know how to do it. Show me?"

Dr. Heath smiled at the young brunette and came around the gurney to stand right beside her. He took one of her hands and placed it on the buckle that would secure the strap on Tate's left ankle.

"You take this part, here, and slide it in... here," he instructed, slowly moving her hand through the motions.

Somehow the doctor managed to make the act of buckling the strap very suggestive. The nurse blushed. Tate grinned. He found the whole thing awkward and funny. The IV drip was keeping his brain too vague to think in straight sentences or he would've remarked on it.

The doctor used his body to usher the nurse to the last strap where they repeated the suggestive buckling. It was all Tate could do not to laugh. He knew Dr. Heath well enough by then to know such an outburst would be punished and the teen really didn't want to stay in the man's ward any longer, so he kept it clamped down. He sure would have some stories to tell later—if he could remember them. His experience under the doctor's care was already a distorted mess of memories he couldn't rely on. Some he planned to forget as soon as he could.

It wasn't long before a big bruiser of an orderly appeared to wheel Tate's gurney away. Down the hall behind them, the nurse's flirty giggle echoed on the gray tiles in a hollow way. The only sound for a long time after that was the squeaky wheels on the tunnel floor as they headed back to Briarcliff's above-ground facility.

...

-= AMERiCAN HoRRoR SToRY =-

...

Most patients were at occupational or personal therapy when Tate was returned to the ward. When they got to his room, the orderly unstrapped him from the gurney and let him get down. It was a shaky experience for the young man: His legs were still weak and he overestimated himself when he slid off. His knees buckled and he stumbled into the wall. The orderly ignored him and wheeled the hospital bed away.

Tate was awake and on his own for the first time in over a month.

It felt weird.

Even if he hadn't been under the influence of powerful drugs, the adjustment would be an odd one: Going from being strapped down and under almost constant supervision, to having freedom of movement. Only he wasn't truly free. If he was free, he could walk out the doors of the ward and go where he wanted. Still, the change felt like freedom.

He decided to exercise that limited freedom and get the sweater his mother brought him. It would be nice to have the security and familiar scent of the old garment. Only when he opened his nightstand, the sweater was gone. Someone else's belongings were stowed in there—and they owned a lot more stuff than Tate did.

At first he thought maybe the orderly had brought him to the wrong room but that was easily checked. He was in the right room. It was the stuff that was wrong. Irritated and curious, Tate dug through the contents of the cabinet. He found a fluffy white robe and a purple satin smoking jacket. There was a photograph of a pretty redheaded woman in a 40's style dress. Some men's house slippers. A pacifier.

The pacifier caught him. The rubber teat was fastened to an intricately carved backing plate that looked to be made of pure silver. Who would make such a thing? And why would someone, here in the adult wing, have such an item? It was a mystery. The thing was ornate and odd all at once.

Tate's first impulse was stash the peculiar soother in his hiding place in the mattress, but the one with the hole had been replaced. The new mattress had no holes. There wasn't anywhere else in the room to hide the pacifier but he didn't want to put it back either. Not that he wanted to use it; that would be gross. He just liked how unusual it was. He had a box of unusual things back home and he missed it. The pacifier would make a good start to a new collection.

He finally accepted there was no place in the cell where he could hide his treasure so he hid it in his hand and ventured out into the hall. No help there: A bug couldn't hide in that open corridor. He went to the common room next, thinking he might squirrel the pacifier in between the cushions of one of the couches. He saw Vida sitting next to the bookcase but he only waved to her. He didn't want her to see his treasure because he knew she would want it.

He made his way to the couch furthest from the set of double doors, back where Mort often liked to stand on his head. The scrawny man wasn't there right now so Tate felt secure in burying the pacifier there in the old couch next to the barred windows. The nearby radiator was putting off heat, which made Tate suddenly aware of how cold he was. He'd wanted to go say hi to Vida once he'd stashed his prize but the warmth and the relative softness of the couch lulled him. Soon he was asleep.

—

Around 11 the common room got really noisy, when several of the patients returned from various jobs around the asylum. Tate groggily made his way back to his room where he collapsed on the cot and promptly went right back to sleep. He was so solidly out, he didn't notice the shadow fall over him a little over a half hour later. He couldn't miss the rough shake his shoulder received, though. Startled by the rude contact, the teen blinked blearily up at the person standing over him.

"You're in my bed," the dark-haired guy said. He looked to be roughly Tate's age but was a lot bigger and better built. He also had bandages over both of his cheeks, taped excessively to keep them in place.

"S'my bed," Tate grunted and rolled over to shut the guy out.

Dandy didn't like that one bit. Before, he would have thrown a fit. But that was the old Dandy. New Dandy was a lot more proactive. He grabbed the intruder by the shoulder and hauled him out of the bed with it. The blond teen fell gracelessly to the floor. When he got to his feet, he was mad.

"The hell, pal?" he demanded, puffing up his chest.

Puffed up or no, the other patient was still bigger than Tate was and he knew it. He crowded the blond boy's space, using his body to force the him away from the cot. He'd seen the orderlies use that move before and found it quite effective himself, just then.

"You're in my room," Dandy said, his words clipped with irritation. "Get out."

Tate bristled. "This is my room. Has been for..." He hesitated only briefly before realizing he had no idea how long he'd been in Briarcliff—or even what day it was. "Forever."

"I know it's only fitting given where we are but you're mad," Dandy said loftily. "I've been in this room since I got here and I've never seen you before. Now get. Out."

He crowded Tate's space again in an attempt to muscle him out of the room. That was more than the blond boy could take. He gave the bigger guy a shove with both hands; hard enough to make Dandy stumble back a step.

The push came as a surprise. Dandy hadn't expected the other boy to fight back and he hadn't expected such strength, given his size. Neither rattled him but both were of note. He cocked his head and raised his fists. He would've smiled if it wouldn't tug on his healing stitches beneath the bandages. He'd been hall fighting for weeks at Briarcliff, and winning most of his bouts. He was ready to go.

The boxer's stance only made Tate hesitate an instant then he was launching himself at the other guy. Rather than try to take him on in a fist fight, though, he grabbed hold of Dandy's middle and used his weight and forward momentum to plow the bigger guy into the wall.

The move was met with a satisfying "oof" as the air left Dandy's lungs in a rush. Temporarily winded, he fought to catch a breath. Tate used the moment to haul the other guy's shirt up over his head in an attempt to blind him. He only succeeded partway. Dandy was winded but he wasn't helpless.

While they wrestled over the shirt, Tate aimed a knee at the other patient's side and scored a hit. Dandy found his breath and let it go with an enraged roar. One hand shot out of the shirt and seized the smaller teen by the throat. Tate felt his back hit the wall and suddenly their positions were reversed, only he was much worse off than his opponent had been. He couldn't breathe.

"Put him down, Dandy."

Sister Jude's crisp voice sliced through the commotion. Dandy's grip loosened and Tate staggered to an upright position. He thought real hard about punching the other guy in the kidney but with Sister Jude standing right there, flanked by Patrick, he settled for rubbing his throat and glaring.

"He was in my bed," the dark-haired guy said, slipping into a petulant tone that made Tate give him the side eye.

"These two were put together?" Sister Jude said incredulously, twisting so she could glance back at the orderly, who shrugged and spread his hands. He hadn't assigned the cells. The nun's look soured. She looked back to the two young men but it was Patrick she addressed. "Move Dandy to Mister Bastion's cell. He's... left us. He won't be needing it any longer."

Dandy gathered his things, not noticing in the shuffle that his pacifier was missing. Once they were alone, Sister Jude gave Tate a solid look from head to toe.

"Not even back a day and already making trouble," she said in a critical tone that made Tate's stomach ice over.

"He had me pinned!" he said defensively. "I was sleeping and he came in here and attacked me!"

Sister Jude looked unimpressed, though his tone and volume brought Cecil to the door. "You have your own rooms now," she said. "I don't want any more problems between the two of you."

"Tell him that!"

Sister Jude gave him a look to freeze blood. "I'm telling you. Now drop your pants and bend over the bed. Cecil? The cane, please."

Tate let his head fall back as he sent a disbelieving look heavenward to keep his eyes from leaking from frustration. He'd done nothing wrong and yet he was the one being punished. "Fuck!" he exclaimed and thrust the hospital-issue pants down.

"Vulgarity will only add more sin to your soul," the nun chastised as she took the thin rattan cane from the orderly.

Tate dropped to his knees beside the cot and flopped over it, scowling deeply. He seriously considered telling her to go fuck herself but the cane sliced through the air in a deadly whistle and cut into his ass so fiercely it made him yelp. It had been a while since the Sister caned him and she made sure to remind him with each fiery stroke why he would want to avoid it in the future.

When it was over he had to go join the line of men in the hall who were waiting for lunch. He could feel some of them glaring at him for holding up the meal but he didn't care. He also didn't care about the looks of sympathy some of the others sent him. He knew how he must look, all red-faced and puffy-eyed and miserable. He kept his eyes on the floor even after the line started to move, all the way to the cafeteria.

...

Author's Note:

I used the AHS punkin I made for this Episode's cover image. I like to use pictures that hint at what's in store and with this ep focusing on fall and Halloween, it seemed the best fit.

We've jumped ahead a month from where we were at when we last left off. What happened between then and now is just more of the same so I felt safe to skip to when Tate was released. Not that he's thrilled to be out now. Heath's ward was boring but at least he was safe from Sister Jude there.

Next chapter: Tate sees Dr. Thredson again for the first time in weeks.