A/N: Just wanted to let you guys know that this story is not winding down anytime soon. It is 100 chapters long. So there's still quite some story left.
They strapped him to a gurney. "This is procedure," the EMTS told him. Made sense, Barnacles guessed, just in case the person being taken became hostile. But really, this seemed a bit much for him. He stayed still as they strapped down his arms, breathing as calmly as he could to not feel claustrophobic. He wasn't going to do anything to them.
It came again, when he was finally in the hospital, after the ride in the ambulance. He was freed from the gurney and taken to a chair where he was given pamphlets that talked about his rights as a patient and informational booklets about depression and anxiety. He wondered how this affected him, since he was not a citizen of this country, but he figured that Inkling dealt with that somehow.
"If you misbehave, you'll be put into the unit for the patients that are more disturbed," the nurse said. Barnacles could hear the slight threat in her words. But she didn't have to say that. Barnacles was always a rule follower (except that one stupid time when he failed to follow cleaning protocols because he was lazy and useless and all of a sudden his paws were gripped tightly and he discreetly dug his claws into his arm for just a moment before he came to his senses and stopped). He was always a rule follower, and he won't do anything here. He had no ill will towards anybody; he would never want to hurt anyone.
All of Barnacles' possessions on him, from his octocompass to his belt, to even his clothes, were taken from him. He was going to get a medical gown, but when the hospital realized that he needed to stay cool, one of the Octonauts (he did not know which one) gave the hospital his pajamas, which were cooling clothes. When asked why he could not keep his day clothes, he was told that it was because it had metal in it, namely zippers. It was a safety precaution.
They seemed to have safety-proofed the whole facility, at least where the patients were at. The bathrooms had shiny steel instead of breakable glass for mirrors. Toxic-free shampoo and toothpaste. The bathroom door had an opening on the bottom of it and flimsy velcro as a "lock," just in case a nurse needed to get a patient out if he did something dangerous.
They monitored how much everyone ate and drank, periodically did blood tests to make sure everyone was healthy, had daily group sessions that were voluntary, if the patients wanted to talk. There were daily, mandatory meetings with a psychologist or psychiatrist. Each patient could make one call a day, and there were visiting hours. There were exercising classes that were also voluntary where they would do yoga, push-ups, and the like (anything with dumbbells were out of the question).
There were books and coloring supplies. The coloring supplies were soft markers and crayons (which were all nontoxic); there were no pens or pencils. There was also a TV, high up on one ceiling in one room so it was out of reach, that they could watch if they wanted (and a remote, so they could thankfully change the channels to something good). There weren't any doors between any of the rooms, except for the velcro ones in the bathrooms that were already mentioned.
Barnacles did not know how to feel about any of this.
He was technically caged, stripped away to the core of his very being. He had failed in every sense of the word, been put in a madhouse. He was angry that he was put there in the first place.
But he also felt free.
Everything was structured, simple. There was a schedule, a simple schedule, where the only mandatory tasks were to get medicine, have meetings with the doctors, and eat. Everything else was voluntary; nothing was expected of them.
No one knew who he was. He wasn't a Captain. If he didn't want to talk to anyone, he could just go to his own corner and do whatever he wanted. Social expectations were non-existent here. Of course, if anyone acted out, the nurses dealt with it; but Barnacles didn't have to make small talk if he didn't want to. He didn't have to be a Captain and initiate conversations or friendships. He didn't have any responsibilities, not a hundred tasks that he had to do all at once.
Although he was technically not allowed to leave, he was the freest he'd ever felt in a long time. He wasn't sure if he should feel thankful, strange, or ashamed of it.
But, and at this he chuckled bitterly, that shame was outside, with everyone else, looming over like dark shadows that wanted to tear him apart for his inadequacy. In here, he could actually be himself. He didn't have to worry about anything.
He found himself coloring a lot. There was a coloring book full of Mandala designs, which were circular, flower-like patterns that were intricate and extremely detailed. It didn't seem like anyone else was using it, so he took the whole book and spent most of his time on it, slowly coloring in every single space with different colored markers. He liked markers instead of crayons became they spread more easily, and they didn't cause as many weird lines within the color itself. It was relaxing; and he randomized all the colors, so it did not require much thought.
He should've been ashamed that a tall, strong polar bear was hunching over and coloring for hours on end, but frankly, he was too tired to care anymore.
He was calm enough that he was able to jumpstart a bit of his morning routine again. He would brush his teeth once a day; the toothbrush and toothpaste were provided by the hospital. It didn't seem as intimidating as before, though it was still a bit unpleasant. Taking a shower was still incredibly difficult. But maybe he'd be able to do it later. Baby steps, after all.
Kwazii visited Barnacles every day. The rest of the Octonauts would have gladly come along with him, Kwazii had said over the phone; but Barnacles didn't want them to see him like this. Peso could have come, since he was a doctor; but frankly Barnacles never wanted to see him ever again. He was initially mad at Kwazii as well, but... He couldn't really stay like that. He understood why Kwazii (technically all of them, but he forced himself not to think too much about that) did what he did. As the new Captain, he had to take care of his crew's wellbeing, even when the party himself didn't want to be safe.
And even more importantly, when Kwazii first saw him, greeted him enthusiastically and put an arm around his shoulders, the first contact in hours, other than needles and nurses tying him to a gurney, it was like a breath of fresh air. Barnacles was right; Kwazii was someone he could rely on. At least, it sometimes it felt like it; other times, it felt like he was just like the rest, judging him.
Gosh, he was sick of flip-flopping all the time, his perception of his emotions changing on a dime. He hated it. He hated himself. It was no wonder why he belonged here.
The first time Kwazii came, he had vanilla kelp pudding in a plastic container from the Vegimals, but the doctors didn't let him bring it in because it could have been poisoned. He didn't bring in food after that.
Barnacles wasn't thinking about death much, but he brought it up every time he met with the psychologist, because she asked what had happened. He would explain his day-to-day life, how he couldn't sleep at night, the attack. He talked about his feelings, which was surprising; because he thought that he would never be able to talk about it. It was never easy with any of the others, who knew his life, had expectations of him. But with the doctor, she didn't know anything. She was a complete stranger, and that made it so much easier. He found words to feelings he had never been able to voice, because the panic was sucked out of him. He didn't have to worry about what she thought. He could finally unpack what was in his head, his natural experience of talking with others finally appearing to the forefront, making the ideas and thoughts eloquent and understandable.
Was... Was who he was coming back? The person he had always imagined he was, his internal perception of himself, before this nightmare started?
He was hopeful, but not hopeful enough to really think anything of it.
There was always the matter of what happened after this. This emergency hold was used, he was told by the doctors, to stabilize the patient. To make sure that they weren't intent on killing themselves anymore. They were required to stay for 72 hours, but it could take longer, to a few weeks, if it was bad enough. But that was the problem: it was temporary. He would have to face the real world again. Go back to the stresses of life.
He didn't think he could take it.
"I don't want to leave," he eventually told Kwazii once. They were sitting on the couch in the room with the TV, the place where the patients ate, and where all the coloring supplies were. The doctors had eyed Kwazii's eyepatch weirdly the first time he had came, but they had let him in anyway. By now, though, he was a regular; and they did not give him a second glance.
Barnacle's bandages on his head were off. They were superficial anyway, so they were healing pretty fast. Kwazii knew that the scabs were there. Smaller, but still on the polar bear's head. The fur just covered it up.
"I know I didn't want to come here in the first place," Barnacles quickly defended himself, his heart starting to pound, his muscles starting to tense. "I know you think that I'm washy-washy and stupid-" Kwazii tried to interject, but Barnacles didn't let him, "-But it's nicer in here than out there. I have food, water, and a bed to sleep in. I don't need anything else."
"I don't think any of that stuff about you," Kwazii said. Barnacles couldn't take that at face value.
"How's everyone doing?" Barnacles asked instead.
Kwazii blinked, surprised at the obvious topic change, but after a moment decided to oblige. "They're ok. They're trying their best to keep their hopes up," Kwazii told him.
Barnacles could feel the familiar weight of guilt in his stomach. He did this to them. A thought of, You need to kill yourself, flitted through his mind, but he pushed it aside. If he did that, then they would be in so much more pain.
"And Shellington started to have therapy sessions with Dr. Galen," Kwazii continued.
"Really? Why?" Barnacles asked, shocked.
"Ya know that whole sea otter epidemic thing?" Kwazii asked. The polar bear nodded. "Well, when the whole Serpent thing happened, he didn't take it well," he said tactfully. "He did calm down, but I think he's not all the way better. He says he's never been better at all, ever since his childhood. So he's doing something about it now. I think he's going to be okay," Kwazii said. "I think you will be too."
"Not sure about me, but I'm confident in Shellington," Barnacles replied. "At least he didn't have to go to a madhouse." At least he wasn't suicidal. That was why he wasn't with Barnacles here in the first place.
But then, he couldn't afford to, the more Barnacles thought about it. There weren't enough sea otters as it was. They couldn't off themselves now, could they?
"It's not fair to compare yourself to him," Kwazii said. "Your situations are different."
Barnacles shrugged. He couldn't take that at face value, either.
"No, I'm serious," Kwazii said. "You were attacked by the Bánaithe Serpent. Not many come out of that alive, and when they do, they're not the same."
"So... is there no hope for me?" Barnacles asked. Kwazii had never seen sadder eyes. "Will I never become who I was again? Will I always be broken like this?"
"I honestly don't know," Kwazii said, he looked up ahead of him, as if seeing something else, thinking. "But... Calico Jack went through something like this."
Barnacles' eyes widened. "Really?"
"Yep," Kwazii chuckled sadly. "He had a run in with the Bánaithe Serpent, lost his eye and leg that way. He had wanted to kill himself too."
Barnacles listened intently, like a sponge absorbing water, drinking in any information as much as he can.
"I never knew my grandfather completely," Kwazii said, looking to the side. "The older I get, the more I realize just how much. But while it looks like those experiences still affect him, he has found a way to become himself again. He found a way to love life again, to relish in it, to find fun in the adventure."
"I wish I could be like that," Barnacles murmured. His legs were to his chest, arms around them, his sense of dignity and social politeness long abandoned.
Kwazii put a paw on his shoulder. "You can," he said. "I'm sure you will."
