Seats jolted as the tires bounced off the serrated gravel and neglected lot. Brock's hand gently turned the wheel and the car made a more smooth transition onto the main road. Despite his reserved demeanor, he couldn't help but feel uncomfortable with Rusty beside him. The doc was irrevocable and despondent.
Brock kept focused on the road ahead of him. Led Zeppelin's Iron Man blared through the speakers as thoughts rushed through his mind. He looked at the dashboard and hesitated; finally, when the track ended, he turned the radio down. In doing so, Rusty's erratic breathing became more apparent, his eyes were distant yet seemed focused on the floor. There was an otherworldly gaze about them; seconds went by and his breathing hurried.
Brock's peripheral vision allowed him to see without turning to the side. He stared at Rusty and concern for his client's well being grew. "Hey, doc, you - umm, you ok over there?" Rusty swiftly clenched his hand, his thumb pressed roughly against his index finger causing noise due to the intense friction. "Just take me home," Rusty gulped. His breathing became slightly more regulated but the intensity of his expression grew; he looked extremely exhausted. Brock exhaled calmly and turned one last time, leading them to gate of the Venture compound.
As the car entered the garage Rusty prematurely opened the door, exiting before Brock could park and shut it off. "Hey, doc! What are you - seriously, are you ok?" Rusty lurched onward, not looking back or showing any indication that he heard his bodyguard.
"Doc!"
Rusty's foot steps seemed to echo endlessly through the hallway as he aimlessly walked towards his bedroom, bumping into a few furnishings here and there and at some point, even the wall. He gently opened the door and locked it behind him.
Rusty raised his head and listlessly stared out the window when suddenly he felt a sharp pain rise in his abdominal area. He fell backwards against the wall, clenching his chest as hot tears began falling uncontrollably onto his legs. Rusty began to curl within himself when he heard a light knock on the door.
"Hey, doc, are you ok in there?" In that moment, Brock heard Rusty quietly sobbing causing his tone to became more modest. "I mean, if you're fine just… let me know and I'll ahhh…"
"It's ok, Brock." Rusty curtly responded. "I just need some time alone."
"Ok, but, uh - the boys, they want to see you. What should I tell 'em?" Rusty's head dug deeper into his clavicle. "Tell them… 'daddy has a headache and is taking a nap.'" Brock looked down at his feet for a moment, unsure of what to do despite being given direct orders. He glanced down the hallway towards the boys' room and started off, only to stop. "If you, need anything, just - you know, just let me know." He waited a second more for a response but when he didn't hear any, he sauntered off.
Minutes passed and soon hours, Rusty hadn't moved from the spot he had initially collapsed in. His heart was no longer racing but his mind was. The more he thought of his life, what had happened today, the more perturbed he became. Rusty couldn't escape his reality no matter what direction he took. His eyes were throbbing ceaselessly and his focused was blurred. As he turned his head, wincing from the pain, a muffled rattling sound escaped from the inside of his jacket. Rusty reached down inside, pulling out his pill canister that glistened as it entered the moon's light. He had forgotten it was in there.
Rusty's hand effortlessly glided across the smooth surface to reach the latch when he hesitated. He titled the canister slightly and with a deadness in his face, focused on his reflection. To normal eyes it would have been distorted and hard to see in the soft moonlight, but to him, it was clear as day. Rusty's breathing became more labored as he continued to fixate on it.
He saw a man, a man so desperate and impotent that he deserved his lot in life. Rusty's reality was all too clear to him. He was a failure, it was as simple as that. A failure as a prodigy, a failure as a scientist, and a failure at even pulling off a short term tryst. Rusty's hand clenched the canister as he thought of how poorly he'd stood up for himself today. The insults that woman hurled at him! He didn't mean for it to happen; he didn't mean to put her daughter in this predicament...The woman's voice, no matter how much he tried to block it out, became louder until it boomed from all angles in his mind.
"What kind of sick man has sex with a fifteen year old!" His mind reeled as he responded to himself aloud. "I didn't know, I really didn't…" His hand began to shake and the canister rattled with such force and speed it sounded like a vaporous hiss. "You enjoyed it too, you bastard!" How could he not enjoy it? How could any man, any person for that matter, resist one of the primordial of urges with someone so willing and wanting?
"Ma'am, I'll do anything," he sobbed.
"I don't want your daughter to -"
"You rapist!" The woman shrilled with a snarl as she thrust her finger less than an inch within his face.
Rusty's eyes light up. He rose from the ground like a bullet, tossing the canister with such force that it burst open when it made contact with the wall. Pills scattered all across the floor as he yelled out in agony. Though his eyes were sore and tired from all the distress he had gone through that afternoon, he was sobbing again, loudly. He had no more reservations about his emotions. He didn't care who heard.
His fingers dug deep into his palms; a rough, elastic sound emitted from them as nails scraped against flesh. His eyes tightened and his jaw locked shut. He brought his hands up to his face and rubbed them vigorously against the sides. They gripped the handles of his glasses and pulled them off forcefully. Rough contact was made as they pressed against the temporal area and eventually collapsed while passing his temporal line. Rusty felt a brief sting as they harshly poked the sides of his eyes and nasal bridge. Once off, his grip loosened and they fell to the ground.
Rusty unlocked his door and bumbled down the dark hallway to the bathroom. His hand flicked the room's light switch causing him to wince in pain from the bulbs' intensity as it clicked with little audible pulses of energy. He looked into the mirror and glared at himself briefly before abhorrently turning away. He tugged at the left hand drawer. When it didn't open, he aggressively jiggled it from side to side until he was able to smoothly pull it out. Objects within the drawer clattered while he felt for something deeper within. While rummaging, Rusty's hand made brief contact with a pair of scissors. Despite the painful prick, he barely reacted and proceeded to pull them out. His head sharply turned to the mirror as he took one last look at himself.
Gradually he leaned in. The scissors rose against his forehead and with great hesitation, halted as the blades clasped at the lock of hair dangling betwixt them. A few strands glided past Rusty's line of sight and fell into the sink below. More strands followed, and soon clumps as he vigorously snipped away. He was halfway finished when the tears ceased. A sense of calmness enveloped him and his hand steadied. He no longer looked like a crazed man, but someone with purpose.
Once he had cut all that he could, Rusty gently put the scissors on the side of the sink and proceeded to undress. The bathtub's knob creaked as it turned while he dually proceed to pull the piston shaped knob upwards. Pulsating water spattered against his shoulders and head. The warm drops embraced his body when he stepped in, washing away the residue that felt heavy on his face. Rusty slid down to the tub's floor as a sense of calmness enveloped him. Once settled, he grabbed a razor from the ledge's side and calmly began to shave the excess hair from his scalp. He nicked himself here and there, but he was too spent to care or react much beyond a slight eye flutter. All that mattered was that he no longer had to look at his former self. His hand continued to glide effortlessly against his scalp until it began to wobble. Rusty's head dipped and swayed as he fought to keep his eyes open. Try as he might, he couldn't resist collapsing into a deep stupor and his hand, along with the razor, fell into his lap with a soft thud.
In another area within the Venture compound, a muffled melody of progressive rock blared beyond Brock's door as the interior was consumed with a volume that would be considered near deafening.
Despite how much Rusty's demeanor concerned him today, Brock decided to think nothing of it as it was sometimes typical for him to get in a depressive mood. He figured that as long there was no weirdo in a butterfly costume, some mutated underground hippies, or other oddity coming after the Venture family, he shouldn't be too concerned.
Brock continued his set of crunches when he noticed something queer with the song. It took him a second to realize the track's beat was off. "What the…" Brock got up and began to examine the motion of the vinyl player. "Maybe there's a defect with the cartridge or the record's getting old," he thought to himself. He stopped the arm to closely investigate the record's condition when he noticed a muffled noise coming from the left of him.
"Brooooock!" A small, whiney voice creeped beneath the slit of the door. "Dean, is that you?" Brock called back while looking at his wrist communicator. "Dean, it's three-forty in the morning, what are you doing up?" A muffled cry was heard and a thud as something relatively light bounced against the door.
"Oww, Hank! Brock, Hank hit meee!"
"Don't tell!" Hank responded with a shriek that broke down into a loud cry.
"Boys, what's going on?" Brock sighed with agitation in his voice.
"Hank, Hank, he - Hank wet the bed again!"
"Guhh.." Brock's brow furled as his thumb and index finger rubbed against it. "Hold on…"
Brock approached the door and opened it causing Dean, who was leaning against its body, to fall face first. "Oww!" Dean exclaimed while getting up, wriggling his nose. Brock gently grabbed the boy by the shoulder and spun him around so they could see eye to eye. "Now what's going on?"
"You know how you told me 'an Hank to use the bathroom 'cause we had all that milk 'n cereal 'n you told Hank he'd wet himself like last time if he didn't use the bathroom?" Dean inhaled deeply. "Well Hank didn't use the bathroom even though he had 'ta 'n so he peed himself."
"I thought the Penguin was down there!" Hank blurted out in his defense. Brock sighed again as he tried to reassure him without loosing his composure. "Hank, how many times have I told you… The Penguin can't get you through the toilet, it's physically impossible." Dean bounced up and down raising his hand. "Oh, he could if he used pop's shrink ray!" Hank's face tuned up at this idea and be began to bawl. "Dean!" Exclaimed Brock. "I don't want him to take me down there! It smells like poo!" Hank sniveled.
"God… Hey, why didn't you get your father?" Dean and Hank sheepishly looked at the ground until one of them responded. "We didn't want to get yelled at." Dean whispered. "Pop's in the shower. Dean tried 'ta knock; he didn't answer." Hank chimed in. Brock's face furled in disgust not only at Rusty's general lack of concern for the boys but what he was most likely going to have to do in this situation. He could've easily changed Hank himself but he was too agitated to do so. No. These were Rusty's kids and ultimately his responsibility. Though he loved them, perhaps more than than Rusty himself, he was a bodyguard, not a nanny. Brock got up and gestured to Hank and Dean. "Boys, I want you to stay here for a second." Brock then turned specifically to Hank. "I'll get your father so he can deal with you and help change your bed, Hank." With that, Brock briskly sauntered off.
Dean watched Brock leave and then proceeded to crawl onto his bed with Hank trying to follow. Seeing what his brother was about to do, he gently shoved him off. "What the hey?!" Questioned Hank as Dean calmly stated the obvious. "You peed on yourself, remember? You gonna get Brock's bed all gross." Hank looked down for a second once he realized this to be true.
"Oh…"
Dean proceeded to try looking out the window above the bed when suddenly it vibrated and the surface's distribution distorted greatly. A perplexed Dean looked back and yelled in shock. "Hank! Eww!" Hank proudly stood on the bed with his lower area exposed as he tossed his undergarments onto the floor below. "This way I can't get the bed wet!" Hank exclaimed with his arms spread proudly.
Brock walked down the hallway until he reached the bathroom door and began to knock. "Doc, I know you're not feeling good but, Hank's pissed himself again and honestly? I think you should get it this time." He paused for a second waiting for a response. "Doc. The wall's not that thick and the shower's not that loud. Come on…" Still no response. Maybe Rusty was asleep, it wasn't uncommon for him to take a break from reality in this manner when he was stressed about something. Brock jiggled the handle a little but it was locked. Brock thought to use the boys' door but knowing Rusty, he would've locked it when showering. Still, he couldn't help but feel compelled to check.
"Smells like Sugar Smacks…" Brock wrinkled his nose in disgust as the smell of urine proliferated the boys' room thanks to Hank's bed overheating the mattress. He walked over to the door and jiggled it. The door easily gave way and Brock had to catch himself due to being unprepared. "Whoa." He gasped a little as he looked down. His eyes fixated on hair scatting the floor and sink.
"Doc, what the…" Brock walked towards the tub then hesitated. He felt uneasy about the whole scene but couldn't quite put his finger on as to why. It was only when he looked back at the sink and recalled Rusty's dour demeanor earlier that evening that a sense of urgency overcame him. He swiftly ran towards the curtain and whisked it open. "Doc! I, doc…" Brock's face morphed into a confused, worried, and somewhat disgusted expression all at once while he took in what he saw. "Mmm… Brock." Rusty moaned as Brock turned off the shower. Although he didn't get wet, Brock could feel the cool air coming from the nozzle and shower head which concerned him. "Doc, what the hell…" Rusty's eyes slowly opened as he begin to gently awake, quivering. "Brock," Rusty sluggishly spoke, "the hell are you doing in here?" It was in that moment Brock noticed what Rusty had done to himself.
"Your head, man…"
"Hmm?"
Brock stared at Rusty's cranium while the latter raised a hand to it. "Oh." Rusty flatlined. "Yea. I decided to shave it. Needed a new look, you know? Long hair wasn't doing me any favors." He rambled while curling up, the air began to hit him hard now and his teeth vigorously chattered. Brock sprang up, grabbed a towel and placed it upon him. "Thanks Brock." Rusty mumbled under his breath as he looked to the shower's wall in embarrassment.
"Are you ok?"
"Yea." Rusty's response was feign and Brock knew it. He watched as Rusty hobbled trying to get up. He steadied his arm for Rusty who feebly used it to pull himself up with Brock bracing. "Ugh." Rusty moaned as he rose from the tub's floor. Once standing, he began to walk back towards his bedroom. Rusty immediately lurched towards the closet. Though his towel slid off him, leaving Rusty exposed, he didn't seem to notice.
Brock watched as Rusty lethargically rummaged through his clothes, finally pulling out a pair of briefs. He knew how Rusty was. Sure the man was an apathetic, sourly individual, but he could tell when he was truly troubled by something and this time Brock couldn't stay silent.
"What happened in that trailer?"
"Nothing."
"Come on, doc, you had the boys freaked out while we were waiting. You were gone for a half hour. Then you just… get out of the car and cage yourself in your room the whole day? I had to explain to Hank and Dean that you were 'sick' 'cause they kept asking about you. Relentlessly…" Brock paused. He tried to find the right words. "I mean, I've seen you go through things, but not to the point…" Brock gestured to all of Rusty, "… that you do this to yourself."
"Brock…" A worried, almost frantic expression came over Rusty as he slowly turned his head towards him and eventually his entire body. "… please."
Brock grimaced and paused, but decided to continue. He wasn't going to let this one slide. "You were collapsed in a shower, drugs on the floor. What if Hank and Dean -"
"Do you really care about Hank and Dean?" Rusty bellicosely asked. His expression was alert as though all weariness was washed away. "Well yea!" Brock responded without hesitation. He moved towards Rusty and puffed his chest in indignation.
"Then we won't talk about this. Ever."
"Doc, you seriously need to -"
"Starting now."
"No, we need to talk -"
"Or I'll let them know you resigned."
" What? I -"
"What would you like me to tell them when you leave?"
Rusty's glare was thorough and gauged every element of Brock's surprise as the latter gently hung his head in submission. A long, awkward silence entered the room while Rusty emotionally collected himself.
"Umm…" Brock stumbled. Though he was obviously vexed and outraged, he put on a calm face, for the boys' sakes. "Hank pissed himself again, doc." Brock growled as Rusty plopped onto the side of the bed. He continued to focus on clothing himself as though Brock wasn't there until he happened to look in his direction.
"Huh?"
"I said, 'Hank pissed himself again.'"
"What do you want from me?" Rusty whined with a glower.
"To, you know, deal with it?"
Rusty waved off Brock's suggestion. "Have Helper do it."
"Doc, Helper's got metal claws!"
Rusty spun around with a zeal that surprised Brock considering how spent he was prior to this moment. "So what? Helper's done it before several times with Dean and me as a kid." Rusty paused in a thoughtful manner before continuing. "Although that was that one time I did get an infection from -" Before he could finish his sentence, Rusty was lifted off his feet by Brock who was clenching his arm and pulling him out the room. "Oww! Easy, Brock. My skin's tender, you know… At least let me get my robe?"
"Brock's gonna be mad at you." Hank giggled, as his legs swung in a pendular motion, bouncing off the side of the bed which fueled their momentum. Dean sniveled and wiped mucus and tears onto his sleeve while the other hand clenched his pants tightly. "You shouldn't ha-have have scared me." He whimpered. Both boys froze as the sound of footsteps could be heard approaching.
"Come on, doc, this is technically your job anyways. What - boys!"
"Pop!" Hank jumped off the bed and ran towards Rusty who recoiled when he was embraced. Rusty callously looked at Brock, squinting with criticism. "Why is Hank naked." Brock shrugged in a befuddled manner before turning to Hank.
"Why aren't you wearing pants?"
Hank sheepishly looked down at the ground and dug his face into Rusty's robe. Impatient for a response and noticing an odd silence from Dean, he inquired him next. "What's wrong with you?" Dean tried to keep his composure but ultimately he could not restrain himself and began to caterwaul. Hank sprang from his father's robe and with a jocular motion of the hand pointed at his brother. "He peed on the bed."
"What?! Why?!"
"I was afraid to go use the bathroom!"
"See, Brock? If you just dealt with Hank yourself, none of this would have happened." Rusty jeered.
"Oh my god, he pissed on my pillow!"
Rusty wagged a disapproving finger. "Brock don't curse in front of the boys. He meant 'piddled,' Dean. You 'piddled.'"
Brock glared coldly at Rusty. "I still think they need their training pants, doc…"
Rusty spun around. "Are you crazy, Brock? Those things are expensive. Besides you know you're not supposed to give them liquids before bed. I've told you this a thousand times. Especially concerning Hank..."
It was at this moment that Hank noticed the striking change in his father's look. "Whoa! Dean, look! Pop's bald! Did 'ja shave it?" Dean, still wailing, incoherently mumbled. "W-why would you do that?"
"Is it 'cause you have lice? Was that person in the houses with wheels a doctor? Why didn't ya' come up with a potion to cure the lice?"
Rusty groaned as he looked away. "Yes."
Dean looked at his father's head from the bed. Despite the distance between the two he could see the scars upon his cranium. "Does it hurt?" Dean asked, wiping away tears. Rusty turned to Dean with a perplexed look. Dean repeated the question. "Does it hurt, pop? The scars?"
Rusty was taken aback by Dean's perceptiveness. With a tinge of sorrow and regret in his voice he looked down, shameful of himself as he clasped his shoulders and withdrew inside himself.
"Yes… Yes they do."
Brock noticed Rusty's demeanor and began to usher the boys off the bed. "Ok, you two. Let's get you cleaned and changed. Hank, get your pants."
"You look like Reducto! Or Hugo!" Exclaimed Hank while he went to grab his undergarments. "Ok then…" Rusty's head sunk within his shoulders as he looked absently out Brock's window. "If he were a tall leprechaun. Or a brownie?" Muttered Dean with curiosity in his voice. "Pop's not a brownie, Dean…" Hank remarked with a critical eye. "No, Hank. Brownies are mythical creatures. It's like a goblin or fairy!" Dean responded with confidence. Brock turned as he heard footsteps exiting his room, "I'm growing it back." Rusty muttered to himself while walking down the hallway.