Title: Drugged

Genre: General

Word Count: 743

Time-Line: When Brian is ten.

Warnings: Spoilers for Brian's past.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters or the premise of this story.

-Story Starts Here-

The halls are loud, filled with the chattering mad. Excitement is in the air, energizing the normally dull patients. A child cries in pain as he is carried off to the hospital. The janitor doesn't waste time mopping up the blood. The sooner the streaks and blotches of red are washed away, restoring the white to it's pristine state, the sooner the patients calm.

Counselors try to calm them by separating them. The constant chatter between them only fuels the excitement. And everyone knows what happens when the patients become to antsy. Needless to say, they are all shooed off to bed early that night.

Whispers of the event linger still, hushed voices carrying the spark of excitement through the darkness. Brian would have usually enjoyed such a day. He normally loves it when someone stands up against the twisted monster that they all belong to. They are all denizens of this horrible land that demands absolute obedience. Nothing can better bring a smile to his young face than watching the monster that is their home twist and turn uncomfortably at such an uprising. And watching the poor sap get taken down afterwards is always fun too.

Not today, however. Brian did enjoy it at first, the only thing better than watching such an event is being at the center of it. Oh, how much fun he had. He had even set a new record for the amount of bodily damage inflicted with only a plastic spoon. And how he does love making people cry and beg for mercy.

But then the fun ended. Today, Brian was the poor sap that was taken down. Pushed and thrown, despite still being a child. Pills were forced down his throat, no matter how hard he fought against them. And now he is left alone in his room. It's too dark to make out any shapes. Or maybe his eyes simply cannot connect the various shades of gray and black into shapes. He twists in his bed and breaths in deeply, trying regain the spark of energy and life that was robbed from him when they drugged him. He's uncomfortable. Maybe it's too hot, or maybe it's too cold. Maybe both. He only knows it's not right. He sucks in more air, trying again to revive himself. But his mouth feels like it's full of cotton, and he can't feel his chest expand. The only way he even knows that he did breath is that the blankets, wrapped tightly around him from all his turning, constrict him more.

He twists and turns some more, trying to free himself from his linen's death grip. His mind can't pick out any details. He can't tell where the blanket ends or begins, or which parts of him exactly are covered, and which are not. He only twists around as much as his sluggish body and muddled mind will allow.

He winds up face down. He can tell because he can't breath, being smothered by his pillow. He wiggles some more, trying a last ditch effort for freedom. He stills and allows himself to whimper, certain that none can hear. He swallows air, trying to wet his mouth. It's dry, he thinks. He can't tell. He only knows his mouth feels wrong.

He rests. He's not sure if it's a long time or short, but soon his hyperactive mind, so busy trying to put together his surroundings, calms. He can no longer be bothered by such things as whether or not his mouth is dry. Instead he just stares off into the darkness. He's not sleeping, far from. The drugs make him restless. They don't calm, only disable. Instead he lets memories and hopes mingle before his eyes. He remembers his mother, and his brother. How they would play games together, one big happy family. How they might have been and what could have been. He imagines what Dexter would say to him now. He'd still be too young to understand, at least most of it. He'd be worried, wanting to know what's wrong with Biney.

Brian's glad his brother isn't here. It's a first for him. He's been constantly wishing for his company, a relief from the beast that he lives in. But right, he doesn't want Dexter to see him. He doesn't want his questioning gaze on him, requesting know what is wrong. Because so many things are wrong now.

He turns again, willing sleeping to come.

It doesn't.