TAGS INCLUDED/ADDED: (Crying! Yelling! Arguments! Hitting! Swearing!)

Disclaimer: I know nothing about Tourettes. I'm going purely off of a video I watched and information on the internet. I'm sorry if I offend anyone, it's not my intention.

Daniel was in the hospital again. His Tourettes had landed him here. He'd had them since he was quite young, but he took some pills and they seemed to calm down.

He was already taking a shit-tone of pills every morning: OCD reducers, Anxiety pills, Antidepressants, ADHD calming pills, and then he was having to take his Tourettes reducers… AND he had to hide it from the others. They couldn't see him taking 5 pills every morning, they'd ask questions.

It didn't help that when he had a migraine or something, he couldn't take any pain reliever. His body was only just coping with all the other meds surging through his blood, it'd completely give up the ghost if it had to deal with codeine as well. So, he'd stick noise cancelling earphones on, take a sleeping pill and try to sleep it off. Don't even get him started when he has the flu.

Anyway, he had Tourettes. It first started when he was young, and it was swearing and jerky movements. His parents though he had it, but it wasn't severe enough to be classed as anything bad. His constant foul language always got him into trouble at school and ostracised him from any possible friends.

His teachers never believed him when he said what he had, so he was always in detention. Daniel never actually said bad bad words, but he did drop the occasional "fuck" or "bastard" bomb.

He was nearly 18 when he was properly diagnosed. It was only because he had a tic attack in his senior year and his teacher thought he was having a seizure and admitted him to the local hospital, where they officially diagnosed him.

Daniel hated it. He hated being stared at like a freak, and he hated having no control over his body. Magic was literally his escape. His tics weren't nearly as bad when he was focusing on his magic. It allowed him to fall into the cards, and just forget how shit his life really was.

Daniel thinks thats why people think he's an asshole. He has no control over his own body, so he controls everything around it. It's literally the only way he can stop his tics.

Daniel's last severe tic attack was when he was 20 years old, and he was now 24. He'd gone nearly a half-a-decade without a tic attack, and he was hoping to keep it that way. But life doesn't always work out the way you want it to.

They were on the plane back from New Orleans to New York, ready for their final show. Daniel had just escaped from Dray, and was desperately trying to ward off an anxiety attack. It didn't help that he'd dropped his cards on the way back, and consequently had nothing to keep his mind busy. So while Jack went to the shitty economy class bathroom, Daniel borrowed his cards to fiddle with.

They didn't feel the same as his own ones, but they were doing the job. He could feel his anxiety slowly ebbing away.

It also didn't help that in the last year, Daniel hadn't been able to buy some more pills for his body. That meant his anxiety was through the roof, his Tourettes were back, his need for control was almost killing him, he went through phases of debating on killing himself, and to top it all off, he was bouncing in his seat, thanks to his ADHD.

So yeah, his body was super fucked up. Jack came back from the bathroom and didn't seem to notice his cards were missing, so Daniel continued to shuffle them, quietly.

The attack happened about 2 days later, in their crummy, aids riddled apartment on Evans Street.

Daniel was in the kitchen, literally just buttering some toast. He could feel a tic coming. "Fuck!" He spat, desperately trying to be quiet. The voices in the other room quietened for a second before continuing again. His brain felt somewhat fuzzier than usual, which either meant an anxiety attack or a tic attack.

Then for no reason at all, he grabbed the butter and squeezed it, squirting it all down his front and all on the floor. "Shit," He cursed, putting his toast on the plate and getting a paper towel to clear it up. His tics had obviously decided to play a game with him, because he suddenly had the burning desire to smack his head on the linoleum floor. Daniel obviously resisted it, but it actually hurt to stop it.

The paper towel was dropped in the bin (not before he'd kicked it, muttering "trashy bin") as he walked through to the living area.

Daniel bit into his toast, then had the overwhelming urge to bite, bite, bite, on his tongue. Instead, he bit his cheek. He'd bitten it hard enough to draw blood.

If these last few tics weren't a big enough giveaway, nothing was. A large tic attack was on the way.

When they'd moved into the apartment, Daniel had essentially baby proofed his roof. There was nothing sharp or dangerous to himself, not even any belts. Just clothes and pillows. So all he could do was punch pillows and himself.

Daniel went to move into his bedroom, when his neck snapped sharply to the right, determined to keep turning. "What the fuck, dude! Don't do that!" Jack had yelled, covering his mouth in a shocked expression. Daniel forced himself to pull it back, even though his whole body was screaming bend bend bend.

Daniel started to painfully play with his middle finger, the stimulation bring him back to reality (slightly)

Suddenly, a shiver ran through his body. It was enough for his tics to apparently start playing up again, because his hand suddenly punched his leg.

Henley.

"Daniel! Stop!" She yelled, grabbing her friends hands, stopping him from punching himself. His whole body shuddered again, before he raised his right leg and forcefully kicked the sofa.

Henley heard the crack of his heel. "Merritt! Help me!" She'd cried, grabbing his legs, stopping him from hitting himself anymore. Daniel's free hand grabbed her hair and yanked it upwards, causing tears to spring to her eyes. "Ow! STOP!" He let her hair go and went back to punching himself.

"Henley, does he have Tourettes?" Merritt asked, puling her out of her stare. "I don't know, but what is he doing! Daniel FUCKING STOP!" Henley shrieked as he grabbed his plate of toast and quickly brought it down on his knee, smashing it.

His knee began bleeding profusely.

"Jack, call 911! Now!" Henley shouted. Jack ran to the phone and dialled them. "Tourettes or no, he shouldn't be doing this! Merritt, grab his hands!" Henley demanded. Merritt grabbed Daniels right arm, and pushed enough weight into it to stop it moving, but not enough to break it. Before Henley could grab the other one, Daniel's body sharply twisted to the left.

The breaking of bone was very much audible. Henley gagged, and looked away from the damaged limb. "JACK! HOW FAR AWAY ARE THE PARAMEDICS?!" She yelled. "5 minutes, they reckon!"

Daniel's harsh yell suddenly brought all their attention to him. His left hand was poking the shard of porcelain in his leg, making the wound spurt more blood.

"Merritt, DICK, hypnotise me into sleeping, ASSHOLE ! I can't hurt myself anymore, C**T!"

Henley's grandmother would be turning in her grave right now. Merritt did as Daniel asked, and hypnotised him into falling asleep.

Daniel.

Daniel vividly remembered it all. His knee had been reconstructed and stitched up, his ankle was strapped up and his pain meds made him feel awesome.

He suddenly felt crushing guilt for talking to Merritt that way. He sunk into his pillows with a quiet groan. "Daniel?" Someone muttered. Shit, he didn't know anyone was in here...

It was only Jack. "Henley and Merritt have gone to get a drink," Jack offered as an explanation to Daniels apparently confused face. "Did I say anything really offensive?" He asked, dreading the answer. "Nah, not really. You said fuck a few times… and dick… and bastard. You only said one super bad word, the Tuesday word, but that was it." Daniel growled and punched his non-injured knee. "Stupid," he muttered. "Dude, you're not doing that again!" Jack stood up quickly. "I'm not, Jack. Don't worry… I'm just frustrated."

The two fell into a silence again. "Why didn't you tell any of us that you had Tourettes, man? We could have helped you…" Daniel chuckled darkly, and turned to look out of the window. "Jack, there's a lot you don't know about me…"

"Like?" Jack prompted. "What do you mean, like?" Daniel snapped. "Like what? I won't judge," Jack promised. "Ok then… my fucked up life includes: ADHD, OCD, depression, anxiety and Tourettes. Anything else?" Daniel snarked. "Dude, why didn't you say anything?" Jack whispered.

Daniel looked away. He had no answer. His parents and peers had always told him that normal was the only way, and Daniel was not normal.

"I don't know, Jack. I guess I'm ashamed?" Daniel eventually said. "Dude, we all have our quirks. Henley's a germaphobe, Merritt had depression and I have really fucking bad ADHD, man. It's nothing to be ashamed of, honestly. You don't see us judging each other." Daniel didn't say anything. Jack scooted over on the shitty metal chair. The sound irritated Daniel's ears.

Jack nudged his leg with his elbow. "But, and I'm aware on how cliché this sounds… we're family, dude. Whether you like it or not, we look after each other."

This, mumble jumble, crazy group of people were family. Daniel was the control freak brother, Henley was the mother, Jack was the little brother, and Merritt was the crazy, fun uncle.

Daniel smiled to himself as he looked away.

This family was better than the one he was born into, and it just goes to show that family isn't always blood.