Disclaimer: I do not own anything connected to From Dusk Till Dawn: The Series. Just borrowing it for a while. The original characters are my own.
Kate's knowledge of drugs and addiction is limited to grade eight health class and Hollywood's depictions in film and TV. None of her friends used and she never had any desire to try. Which is why witnessing Seth go through withdrawal cold turkey is beyond anything she could have watched on a screen. Richie does his best to console her, although his big brain chooses facts and statistics rather than words of comfort and maybe a reassuring touch. She appreciates his attempts at making her feel better, and tries her best to return the favour, but Kate knows she will not find peace. Not until Seth does.
48 hours earlier
"How long have you been using?"
"Since shortly after you dumped my ass."
"Can you knock off the sarcasm for a fucking minute?"
"Fine. Around two and a half months."
"How often did you use?"
"Once. Maybe twice a day."
"What dose did you take?"
"I don't know, Richard. Whatever it took to get the job done."
"I just want to have an idea of what to expect."
"Expect bad, alright?" Richie throws his hands in the air and walks over to the container marked "medical." Inside, he digs out a blue patterned hospital gown and offers it to Seth.
"Are you fucking kidding me?"
"What?"
"No way. Absolutely not. I am not going to have my ass exposed for all the world to see."
"Are you planning to parade down the streets of Houston? It's just Kate and I." Kate's eyes widen and a blush warms her cheeks at the mention of her name and Seth's butt in the same conversation, so she decides to distract herself with making the hospital bed. As they continue to squabble over the practicality of the gown, Kate takes her time tucking the fitted sheet tight around the corners, smoothing the top sheet and blankets over the mattress until not a wrinkle can be seen, and making sure they hang at equal length on each side. She stuffs the pillow into its case, gives it a quick fluff, and places it at the head of the bed. She then piles the extra linen and blankets on one of two chairs placed in the room. Her task complete, she turns to face the brothers. Seth has stripped down to his white tank and boxers and is handing his black shirt and trousers over to Richie. The hospital gown lies balled up on the floor.
"Kate, do mind filling that pitcher with ice water, please?" Richie nods towards an empty plastic pitcher sitting on the bedside table.
"Sure. Um, where?"
"The mini frig next to the bar. There's ice and bottled water." Kate walks off in the direction of the living room.
"Where's her highness? Isn't she participating in this little endeavour?" Richie avoids looking Seth in the eye.
"She's...occupied elsewhere."
"In other words, she can't be bothered."
"More or less."
"Fine by me. The less the merrier." Seth sits on the bed, bounces a little to test its firmness, and grimaces when it doesn't meet his expectations. He lifts his legs and slides them under the covers. The sheets are stiff and rough against his skin, bleached and starched to the point of discomfort, and the blankets feel like they've been woven from the scratchiest wool the manufacturer could find. Still, they are dry and clean which is more than can be said for the clothes he's wearing, damp and odorous from his sweat. Still, his smelly undergarments are far more preferable to the backless hospital gown.
Seth surveys the items on his bedside table: a small, shaded lamp, a circular tray with a space for the missing pitcher and an upside down cup beside it, a box of tissues, a package of hand wipes, and an enamel basin with a set of towels stacked next to it. Seth grabs the tissues and lies down on the bed. The milder symptoms of withdrawal that began on the car ride are ever present now. His nose is running, his eyes are tearing, and it seems like he's sneezing with every inhalation of breath. His face has become a mess of tears, sweat and snot. He yanks one tissue after another out of the box, wipes his nose dry, then crumples the tissue into a ball, and tosses it on the floor. Richie frowns at Seth's disgusting behaviour and drops a waste basket next to the bed.
Meanwhile, Kate returns with the pitcher of ice water. She turns the cup upright, fills it up, and sets it aside. She then bends over and, with dainty fingers, picks up Seth's discarded tissues and throws them in the trash. Kate continues to busy herself with unpacking the supply container while Richie and Seth watch in bemused silence. Seth has seen her act like this before, whenever thoughts of Jacob or Scott crept into her mind, her nesting instincts would kick in. She would straighten up the motel room, fold clothes, sharpen stakes, whatever would help to temporarily numb the loss of her father and brother. But the role she played to perfection was Seth's caretaker, the role she has seamlessly returned to now.
She stacks the tissue boxes under the bedside table, then decides to free up the spare chair by moving the bed linens again. To do that, she needs to rearrange the supplies she unpacked on a folding table near the door. When she finishes and there is nothing left to unload or organize, she looks to Seth. Half covered and half naked, he's left vulnerable to the cool evening air flowing in through the warehouse windows. His body is shivering uncontrollably, the chills that have plagued him on and off since the night before have returned with a vengeance, breaking his skin out in goosebumps. Kate grabs another blanket and covers him up to his chin, folding the sheet neatly over its edge so the coarse material does not rub against him.
Seth never takes his eyes off her as she works, committing to memory the rosy hue blooming high on her cheeks and the way she bites her bottom lip when deep in concentration. The way she tucks her hair behind her ears and the dark lashes that shadow her emerald eyes. His face softens with a wisp of a smile and it's then that Seth realizes that his callous attitude and insensitivity this morning was a lie. He's scared of what's to come. Terrified, and it's not Richie he wants by his side.
It's Kate.
But will he say anything? No, because despite this revelation, Seth's pride continues to overshadow his heart. So, when Kate asks him if she can get him anything, Seth does what he does best.
"Yeah. You can leave." The frown lines between Kate's eyebrows deepen in confusion. Did she do something wrong?
"What?"
"Leave. Go. Richie can handle things from here on out."
"But-"
"I don't need you." And there it is. His best performance yet. Seth ignores the wounded expression on Kate's face as she storms out of the cage. It's better this way, he tells himself. Nice and quick, like ripping a bandage from tender skin. He can feel Richie's eyes boring into him.
"Not a word, Richard. Not a fucking word. Make yourself useful and get me something to eat." Richie shoots him one last disapproving look and walks out of the cage, padlocking the door behind him. Seth lets out a deep breath and winces at the pain the simple act of breathing brings. His condition is worsening. In addition to the chills, his legs and arms have begun to twitch and cramp. When they are not moving restlessly, they are seized in painful spasms. Seth suddenly finds the covers restricting and kicks them off, regretting his decision the second he feels the air hit his sweat-soaked skin. The chills set upon him again and he reaches for the blankets, pulling them up over his shoulders, trying to get warm. Already they are becoming cold and wet, sticking uncomfortably to his body, encasing him in an icy cocoon. Seth doesn't know which is worse. He lifts his head to see the pile of dry linen and wishes Richie, or Kate, would return to change his bed.
He doesn't have to wait long before Richie walks in holding a bed tray. On it is a small plate of whole grain spaghetti covered in some sort of green sauce and a salad of dark, leafy greens.
"What the hell is that?"
"Whole wheat pasta with avocado pesto."
"Are you trying to make this experience worse?"
"Of course not. It's important you eat a high-fibre diet with plenty of complex carbohydrates. It will help make the constipation and any problems you may have with your digestive system less severe. That's if you can keep it down. Has the nausea hit yet?
"At the sight of this, yes."
"Eat what you can. I'll leave the tray here." Richie sets the tray over Seth's legs and turns to leave.
"Richie?"
"Yeah?" How is Kate? Is she OK? The words dry up in Seth's throat.
"Did you cook this?" Coward.
"No. Ordered it from a local restaurant."
"Oh."
"I'll be back in a few minutes to check up on you." Richie steps out, leaving Seth to struggle to a seated position. The aches that beset his arms and legs have spread to his entire body now. Any movement is met with misery. He takes a small bite of his dinner and gags, the reflex forcing him to spit it back out onto the plate. Unfortunately, this brings on a bout of coughing, upsetting his nausea, and prompting him to grab the basin as a precaution. Richie comes running back into the cage.
"Seth!" Seth gestures excitedly with his free hand for his brother to remove the tray and Richie hurries to comply. The coughing fit subsides, and thankfully Seth does not need to use the basin. He hands it to Richie, who places it back on the table.
"Are you OK?"
"Yeah. Just peachy."
"Am I ever going to get a response from you that doesn't involve a smart ass answer?"
"Probably not. You can take the food away. There's no way I'm going to be able to get that down."
"We'll try again tomorrow."
"Can I ask you for one more thing?"
"That's why I'm here, Seth."
"My sheets are soaked. Do you mind changing them? I'm fucking freezing."
"Sure. Kate!"
"Richie," Seth says between clenched teeth, "No!" Any further protests are cut short when Kate rounds the corner and stops in the cage's doorway, her arms crossed over her chest. She avoids all eye contact with Seth.
"Yes, Richie?"
"Would you help me change the sheets, please?"
"Sure, Richie." Kate accentuates Richard's name to send the message to Seth that she is here to help Richie, not him. He receives it loud and clear. Richie unlocks the door and lets her in. Grabbing the driest blanket, Seth gives Kate a wide berth, and curls up into a chair while she and Richie strip his bed and remake it. Kate's previous attention to detail has fallen by the wayside as she unfurls the sheets and lets them fall where they may, the edges dragging on the floor. She slips on a clean pillowcase and fluffs it with a few strategic punches to the center and tosses it at Richie. Kate then snatches the laundry bag and leaves.
"Well, that wasn't awkward at all."
"You've only yourself to blame."
"Shut up, Richard."
"Is he finally asleep?" asks Richie, setting down a bucket next to the chair Kate has pulled up beside the bed.
"Yeah. He's been averaging forty minutes at a time, like clockwork. It's spooky."
"Did he eat the toast at all?"
"He tried, but complained about the taste and then spit it out." Kate leans over and pats Seth's forehead with a wash cloth dipped in cold water. The symptoms from the past twenty four hours have set in and are a constant presence. The new symptoms began within the past twelve hours. Stomach cramps and diarrhea have Seth running to the bathroom at least four times an hour. Richie no longer bothers locking the cage to help save precious time. Kate has borrowed a candle from Santanico with a strong fragrance to burn near the bed to help mask the peculiar scent that Seth says he smells, a putrescent odour that neither she or Richie can detect. He complains about hunger pains, but says food turns to a glue-like consistency in his mouth and when he tries to swallow, it aggravates his gag reflex, triggering his nausea. Hence the bucket.
But what truly tests Kate's faith in a benevolent god are the tremors that have developed. At their best, they will only affect his hands. He'll clench them into fists hard enough for his nails to leave crescent marks in his palms then stretch his fingers out until his knuckles crack, repeating the process until he finds relief. At their worst, his body will writhe on the bed. Kate knew Seth would reach a point when he was no longer in any condition to dispute her help, but now that he has, she longs to hear his gruff voice telling her to get out or to hear him call her princess. Anything is preferable to the soft cries and moans the withdrawal draws out of him.
Kate rinses the wash cloth in the basin and holds it to Seth's forehead. When Seth is not asleep, the psychological effects influence his behaviour. He has trouble concentrating on any one topic. He becomes agitated and restless, pacing the floor of the cage or rocking back and forth on the bed. Eventually, the fatigue will settle in and he'll be forced to lie down, but sleep does not come easy and when it does, it's only in short increments.
He describes a foreboding feeling like being on the edge of an anxiety attack, a sense of impending doom, as if everything is out to get him; a sinister being suffused in the inanimate objects surrounding him, watching and listening. His rational mind knows this is not true, but the feeling haunts him nonetheless. Richie explains to Kate that it is the dramatic fluctuation in Seth's brain chemistry and will pass. Kate watches Seth's eyes shift in dream sleep, praying that whatever entity his mind has conjured has not followed him there.
"Need a break?" Richie extends a mug of hot tea to Kate who readily accepts it with an emphatic thank you. Pursing her lips together, she blows the rising steam into wisps and whorls while Richie pulls up a chair next to hers. He sits down, long legs outstretched, his posture a tad slouched, and his hands clasped on his lap. His usual tailored trousers and designer shirt were long abandoned in favour of faded jeans and a black golf shirt after Seth missed the bucket on one occasion and hit Richie instead.
"I'm good. This tea will do the trick."
"It's almost sunrise, Kate. You've been in and around this chair for almost twelve hours."
"I told you, I'm not going to leave him. Besides, this isn't the first time I've pulled an all-nighter with him. Sometimes he would go out drinking, and God knows what else, and not stumble in until morning."
"You would wait up for him?"
"Not intentionally. I would go to bed, but I wouldn't be able to sleep until I knew he was safe."
"Kate?"
"Yeah?" Do you love him? Why can't Richie get the words past his lips.
"May I ask how you ended up with Seth?" She takes a deep breath and remains quiet, choosing to wipe the sweat from Seth's brow rather than answer. Richie begins to think he overstepped his boundaries until Kate sits back and opens up about her life in Mexico.
She begins at the Titty Twister. While he and Seth were trapped in the labyrinth, Kate had to deal with the discovery that Scott had been transformed into a culebra, his selfish attack on their dad, and the subsequent confrontation that drove him away. She fights to control the raw emotions that threaten to spill over before telling Richie in hitching breaths of her dad's final plea for his daughter to end his life. Richie doesn't know what to say. Standard condolences seem paltry and insulting. When Kate looks at him, eyes shining, he has all he can do to meet her gaze. If it wasn't for he and Seth, Kate would still have a family, still have a bright future ahead of her or, at the very least, a normal one. He scolds himself for not trying harder to get the keys from Seth, for not trying to secure their freedom, for being so caught up in Santanico's deceit that it blinded him from all else. He and Seth brought this down on her, on Jacob and Scott. Richie understands now why Seth chose a path of self-destruction. The guilt was too much to bear. All of it was too much.
"Kate, I'm..."
"Sorry? Yeah. Everybody's sorry, but what's done is done." Her words hit him harder than any physical blow could.
"How did you get out of the Twister?"
"Ranger Gonzalez. He got the keys for the RV and gave them to me."
"But you didn't leave. Why?"
"I didn't know what to do or where to go. It was like I was in a fog. I just stood there in the parking lot. Then Seth walked out the front doors, alone, and I don't know what came over me. I suddenly couldn't bear the thought of being by myself. He was just about to leave when I asked him if he wanted some company. I thought for sure he was going to say no. When he didn't, I was so happy and terrified at the same time." Richie chuckles.
"Seth has that affect on people."
"What did I say about talking about me like I'm not in the room?" Seth rolls over onto his side to face them, the covers bundled around him from head to toe. Kate glances at her watch. Forty minutes. Spooky.
"What is it with you two and me sleeping that compels you to strike up a conversation? Hmm?" Kate and Richie are quick with their apology.
"Sorry, Seth."
They have their routine down pat. Seth wakes from one of his short naps. Richie escorts him to the bathroom. While Seth uses the facilities, if need be, Richie will run a bath for him. If the symptoms are tolerable, he'll be able to soak for fifteen to twenty minutes, allowing the Jacuzzi jets to massage and relax his weary muscles. The times when he can barely stand, he'll let Richie sponge bathe the worst of the sweat from his skin before wrapping him in a bath sheet and hurrying him back to bed. Meanwhile, Kate will strip the bed and apply fresh linen. She'll replenish the ice water, refill the basin, set out a new stack of towels, and fold the clean laundry waiting in the basket by the supply table. Seth's tank and boxers lasted less than six hours that first day and since then Richie has been loaning his brother some of his clothes, but despite the additions to Seth's wardrobe, they are doing laundry on a daily basis. Once Kate has the cage the way she wants it, she goes and makes Seth some toast, whole grain, no butter. Though attempting to eat usually results in failure, they still try. Richie is confident that once they get past the three day mark, the symptoms will start to improve. He gives Seth a week, the most two, to recover.
Kate prays that he is right.