The Fall and Rise of Creed Diskence

An Alternate Universe Redemption Fic based on Yabuki Kentaro's Black Cat series
Black Cat and pretty near all the characters in this story belong to Yabuki Kentaro

Author's Forward:

I will be posting author's notes at my Live Journal ), so as not to take up space here. Answers to any questions or comments and various trivia involved in creating this massive piece of fanfic will be posted there. As another note, after some backing and forthing with , I've worked out that I can use a single '-' mark to separate sections. So, one line with a dash mark equals a change of voice, two lines marks a change of scene on the same day. Oh, and if you'd review here, even if you discuss the fic on my LJ with me, it'd be really great. Thanks!


INTERMEZZO: ANNEALMENT HOUSE

December 8, 2003
"Maybe you should just hypnotize me. Make me remember"

It was an idea, but not, Doctor Jones felt, a good one. "If I had access to the details," he said quietly, eyeing the pale-haired man sitting in the comfortable chair across from him, "then perhaps. Without those, however, your blocked memories remain a minefield that I am not confident I can defuse with any speed." One always had to take care in such matters, and when the patient was someone like Creed. I like my head where it is, thank you.

Creed's dark eyes gazed at Jones ruefully, apparently sensing Jones' fears. "I'm sorry. I make so much trouble. For Train for everybody." Jones had to smile slightly. It was typical of Creed that he was better aware of the problems he caused Train than the ones he caused for everyone else. It was, he thought, something of a breakthrough that his patient even remembered that there anyone beyond Train.

"Mmmm," Jones murmured. "Have you done much thinking about the memories you've just recovered?"

"Some," Creed answered, looking down at his fingers and Jones felt pleased. Creed had usually forced unpleasant memories out of his thoughts, avoiding thinking about them entirely, until Jones was there to talk to him about them. That Creed felt confident enough to consider the newly awakened memory of his Grandmother without Jones there to guide him through it was an important step. "I don't remember much about it. I think Namma practically raised me. My parents I can see their faces but I don't feel anything about them." He looked at Jones, eyes pathetic, "When I try my brain hurts. What's left of it."

Thinking about Creed's family, particularly some of the things Creed's uncle had told him, Jones couldn't help but feel that the young man was probably better off not remembering things too quickly, and he said as much. "Don't rush things, Creed. It'll come when it's ready." Not remembering at all is probably not good, but he needs, so very badly, to feel valuable that knowing his parents considered him a barely acceptable nuisance would only hurt him. Creed was much more stable nowadays, but his scarred ego couldn't take much without risking reopening old fault lines. "It may be a while," Jones continued. "For now, do you remember good things with your grandmother?"

"Oh yes!" Creed's tone turned childishly excited. "We'd bake cookies, go riding, Fight. We always fought, but even that was fun, 'cuz when we made up we'd have hot chocolate and" for a moment his lips trembled, then he smiled. "Brownies. Gamma loved chocolate as much as I do."

"Speaking of which, the staff wanted me to thank you for that batch you sent last week." Not quite brownie, not quite cookie, the dish had been sinfully rich, both in butter and chocolate. Jones was pretty sure he'd put on several pounds from those sweets. Creed grinned happily and nodded, pleasure clear. It didn't solve all of Creed's problems, indeed, Jones doubted they all could be solved, but having a skill that allowed him to be of use to those around him gave the pale-haired young man at another point of stability besides Train.

Leaning back, Jones continued, "Your grandmother was someone very special to you. It was natural for her death to be traumatic, especially considering the circumstances."

"Yes," Creed agreed, voice quivering a little. Jones smiled reassuringly and the young man straightened slightly. "It's hard to think about, but I guess I have to, right? That's what the one site I read said."

Forcing back a sigh, Jones half-wished Creed wouldn't spend quite so much time looking up references. "Creed, we are going to have to talk about what you find on-line. It just isn't possible for a web-site to provide adequate mental health care. Tips, yes, but." He smiled wryly at his patient's discomfited expression. "It's not a bad thing to look things up. Just discuss them with me before trying anything. A lot of the time what works for one person doesn't work for another."

Dark eyes closed momentarily, then, with that gleam of intelligence that always startled Jones, Creed looked at him. "The human machine has too many gears. What looks like one problem might be another, is that what you mean?" It wasn't a quote, or even a twisted mis-quote. From somewhere behind the cracked and crazed lens through which Creed saw the world, a momentary spark of the real person had flashed. Jones just wished he knew a way to help Creed do more than just spark. This spark faded, as others had before, and Creed continued, "I hold a beast, an angel and a madman in me, and my enquiry is as to their working, and my problem is their subjugation and victory, downthrow and upheaval, and my effort is their self-expression."

Jones nodded, smiling wryly. Creed's ability to express himself shifted so suddenly from his own words to those of others that it sometimes seemed like he was dealing with two different people. He wasn't, though, of that much he was certain. "Dylan Thomas," he murmured. "Nicely put." The fact that Creed used others words to express his own thoughts didn't mean those thoughts were non-existent, but that the quotes were the only tools he had to express himself, when the words he needed wouldn't come. "In any case, remembering that she died, remembering the fear and unhappiness is all right, as long as you also remember the good things. You mattered to her, and she mattered to you. To focus on her death would – I think – be an injustice to all the happiness that went before."

A slow, wistful smile, crossed his patient's face as Creed nodded.

To Be Continued...