Title: Institutionalized v.2

Author: Jake

Pairing: 1x2

Genre: AU

Rating: R

Warnings: yaoi, violence, mental instabilities and psycho-babble, language

Something inside me snapped as I felt unfamiliar hands wrap around my waist. I was dangling in the air, pressed back against a hard, impenetrable body. I started screaming at the top of my lungs, my voice echoing through the sterile white corridors. The people around me were staring, gathered up like cattle waiting for the slaughter.

"Get your fucking hands off of me, you prick! You fucking Nazi!" I clawed at the arms holding me, not even remembering that I didn't have any fingernails—I'd bitten them all off. My fingernail nubs succeeded in nothing more than some reddened skin on the man's hairy, muscle-bulging arm. I opted for kicking and squirming. It wasn't long before my heel connected with the man's shin. He dropped me onto the floor in a disorganized pile. The other patients started screaming crazily. Apparently it wasn't often that someone actually landed a blow on one of these guys. I heard the announcement over the din. "Code red, code red. South wing." It was then that I realized I had gotten myself into some serious shit. And all over some fucking pills. Three men came out of the nurses' station, all of them wearing white and looking like, they could overturn a semi with their combined effort. I scrambled to my feet, bare skin slapping loudly at the hard floor. I was practically tackled back down, two of the men piling on top of me and threatening to crush me under their weight.

I panicked, struggling just to breath. Doctor Taylor appeared in front of me, uncapping a needle. I didn't know what was in that syringe, but I knew I wouldn't like it. "No, don't! I'll take the pills! I'll take the fucking pills!"

She wasn't listening to me. Without even the slightest hesitation, she leaned down beside me and jammed the needle into my immobile forearm. I quickly felt all of my limbs go numb. There suddenly wasn't anything left inside me to put up a fight. My head felt fuzzy and I was vaguely aware of hands grabbing me, dragging my limp-limbed body down the hallway. A door was opened in front of me, revealing white walls and a white bed, complete with restraints. I don't remember being put onto the bed.

I awoke in a daze, the room spinning crazily around me. It took a few minutes before I was finally able to focus on the wall. I followed it to the corner, where a slim black camera was hanging, staring directly at me. I glared at it for a moment before letting my head fall back on the bed. My arms and legs pulled at the unyielding restraints.

I didn't struggle long before the door opened with a buzz and Doctor Taylor stepped inside. She stared at me through her glasses. I stared at her through my bangs. "I suppose it's time we had a talk, Duo."

"Take these fucking restraints off, or I'm not saying anything."

"Please watch your language." She set her metal clipboard down at the foot of the bed, between my feet, and quickly undid the buckle on my right arm. Once free, I undid the left one myself, and then sat up to work on the ones around my ankles. She picked her clipboard back up.

"Thanks a lot," I said sarcastically, eyeing her. I was still angry about the fact that she'd stuck me with a needle. I was proud of the fact that I'd never done any sort of drug in my life. Ironic that the first time I'm in a place that's supposed to help me with my problems, they start drugging me up.

Doctor Taylor pulled a chair in from outside the room and had a seat, crossing her legs at the ankle. She pulled a pen out, flipped through a few pages, and got right down to business. "I have a few questions for you. First of all, what is your sexual orientation?"

I stared at her, eyebrows raised. "What the hell kind of a question is that?" She didn't answer—just stared at me expectantly. I sighed. In all honesty, I had no idea. I'd never really thought about it, and up until that point in my life sex was not an issue. I was a virgin and, if things went as I thought they would, I was probably going to stay that way. There was too much shit going on in my life to really give any thought to relationships. "Bisexual, I guess," I finally admitted, not really caring either way. She wouldn't believe me if I told her I was just not interested.

"Have you ever done any drugs?"

"No," I answered quickly, feeling very confident about that.

She stared at me over the rim of her glasses. I stared back. "We can't help you with your problems unless you tell the truth, Duo."

I practically gaped at her. "I've never done any drugs, okay? None! I've never even had alcohol."

She sighed and shook her head, writing something down on the paper in front of her. If she didn't believe me, that was her own problem, not mine. I was telling the truth. "Can you tell me why you tried to kill yourself?"

I lowered my head. The question seemed so simple. It was the answer that was difficult. I couldn't really tell her every single reason why, so I just said, "I've got some problems."

"Would you explain them to me, please?"

I put my hands together in my lap, staring at them. "My friend died of cancer a while back. I saw his dead body walk into the room, and it freaked me out." I felt my face heat up out of embarrassment. It wasn't every day that you admitted you saw dead people walking around.

"Any other hallucinations?"

"It wasn't a fucking hallucination," I countered, feeling angry. "If I was seeing things, that would mean I'm crazy, wouldn't it? I was eating, and Solo just walked into the room and stood on my plate. It wasn't a hallucination. He was really there. He stood on my plate, and the food went everywhere."

"Sometimes, things can seem very real to people with your condition, Duo. Do you honestly think it's possible for a deceased friend to come back from the grave and stand in your food?"

"Well, it seemed pretty fucking possible to me!"

"Duo, please calm down."

"I'm not going to calm down! You're sitting there telling me that the things I see and hear aren't real, when I damn well know they are! Just because you don't see them doesn't mean they're not there. I want to get out of this fucking room and I want to go home. Why are you people keeping me here? I haven't done anything to you."

Doctor Taylor stood up and took a few quick steps towards the door. "Duo, if you can't calm down, I'm going to have to sedate you again."

That got through to me. I quickly clamped my mouth shut, feeling the rage boil inside my gut. I just wanted to be let out. Somehow I knew that cooperating would get me out. I nodded mutely. She slowly returned to her seat. "You said you hear things, Duo. What do you hear?"

"Just a voice," I practically whispered. "Just a guy telling me what to do, sometimes."

"Does he have a name?"

I slumped lower in my seat. He did have a title he went by, but I wasn't comfortable sharing it with her. It felt like I was violating a code of ethics or something. "Does he have a name, Duo?"

"He says he's the God of Death. Like… the Grim Reaper or something. I just call him The Voice, though."

"The God of Death? Why do you think he calls himself that?"

"I don't know," I answered. How the hell was I supposed to know what some imaginary voice was thinking?

"Do you suppose that he's a part of you? Do you think you're the God of Death?"

I quickly shook my head. I wasn't crazy enough to really think that I controlled the lives of people. "Hell no. He's not a part of me. I don't have any say in what he does."

The doctor nodded, scribbling a few things down on her clipboard. She stood from her seat. "If you're ready to take your medication now, you can leave the room."

"Just tell me what it's for, and I'll take it."

"We don't tell the patients what they're diagnosed with. It tends to hinder the recovery."

"Then you're going to have to force-feed me those pills, 'cause I'm not taking them."

Doctor Taylor frowned at me. "That can be arranged."

"Look, lady, just tell me why I'm taking them, and I'll take them. It's not that difficult. It won't hinder anything."

After a moment of staring at one another, she finally relented. "They're just to help you control the voice in your head, Duo. They'll help you stay relaxed."

I couldn't help but give in with a slow, contrite nod. "Alright, I'll take the pills."

"Good for you," she said encouragingly, like I was some sort of little kid who'd agreed to eat his broccoli. I followed her to the nurses' station, where she handed me the cup I'd smashes under my hand earlier. The pills were still inside, one of them broken in half.

I dumped them into my mouth and swallowed them with the offered cup of water. The clock on the wall told me that I'd been in that room for two hours. Time certainly did pass slowly here. Settling myself down on the sofa, I attempted to focus on the television in front of me. I tried to tune out the girl, sitting next to me, who was talking back at it.

A few minutes later, the running commentary started to sound like running water. That's really the only way to describe it. I watched the television slowly melt, my eyes going wide.

Something was definitely going on, here. Standing up, I watched the entire room spin around me and then settle back down. I stumbled away from the couch, a hand to my forehead. I felt nauseous. Someone was talking to me. It sounded like Quatre, but I can't be sure. I shoved whoever it was away and tried to get back to my room, using the wall as a support. "Fucking assholes," I muttered. I'd trusted them, and this was how I was repaid. I was drugged out of my mind. I couldn't see straight.

Grabbing onto the door handle, I pushed the door to my room open and stumbled over to my bed. Heero was lying on his, legs crossed at the ankle, eyes staring up at the ceiling. I fell face-first onto my mattress, holding on for dear life. My body was turning into liquid, all of my bones disintegrating. I couldn't get my legs up on the bed. I stared at my hand. It turned into jelly before my eyes. I couldn't make it move.

"What the hell did they do to me?"

"Guess I should have warned you: can't trust the doctors."

I tried to turn my head to look at Heero, but my muscles wouldn't respond. My eyelids were slowly sliding shut. His face appeared before me, looking smug. In his hand, there were four pills, all of a different size and color. "You've got to tongue them. You never know what they'll do to you."

Heero left my line of vision, and I fell asleep.

Someone was pushing on my shoulder, shaking me. I warily opened my eyes to see Heero standing over me. "Dinner," he said plainly before walking away.

I waited for some of the dizziness to subside before sitting up in bed, my head swimming in a thick cloud of haze and fog. Despite the fact that I was beyond tired, I forced my body to obey and slowly stood up. I was too hungry not to carry myself out into the hallway. Quatre was waiting for me, leaning up against the wall. "I was wondering if you were ever going to leave that room again."

I smiled weakly, pressing my hand against the wall beside me for support. "Those pills… they knocked me out."

"Oh don't worry about them," Quatre said half-heartedly, waving his hand. He walked up to me and grabbed my arm, letting me use him as support. "Just tell your doctor when you talk to him and he'll adjust the dosage."

Somehow, I didn't think it was that simple.

I let Quatre lead me down the hallway and into the common room. Everyone was seated at the small tables along the right wall. I took an empty seat, Quatre settling down in front of me.

"When did you get back, Heero?"

I glanced to my right and realized that Heero had been sitting right next to me. Trowa was in front of him. I suddenly felt like, even if I'd wanted to get out of it, I was going to be stuck hanging around with these guys.

"A few hours ago," he said blandly. An orderly wheeled in a tall cart and opened the door. The mixed smells of food hit me like a ton of bricks. I was starving. He started slowly passing out the plastic trays of food.

"Heero's been in and out of this place for about four years now," Quatre told me, nearly whispering. Heero could obviously hear him, though he didn't seem to mind.

In all honesty, I still wasn't really feeling like myself. I was usually a much more social person. I should have been making comments and joining in the conversation, but at that moment, all I could think about was the tray of food steadily making its way over. The orderly set it down on the table in front of me. I picked up my plastic spoon and started shoveling mashed potatoes into my mouth like there was no tomorrow. I barely noticed that everyone else had received their food and started eating. Quatre, though, was merely pushing his food around on his plate.

I was halfway through my meatloaf when a new pile of mashed potatoes appeared on my plate. I glanced up at Quatre, who smiled. "You looked like you needed them."

I raised an eyebrow, starting to feel more like myself. "I think you need them more."

Surprisingly, he chuckled, picking up a tiny shred of meatloaf and putting it in his mouth. He took about five minutes to chew it before finally swallowing. I continued shoveling food inAll but the corn which smelled too much like vomit to be appetizing. I didn't like vegetables, anyway.

When I was finished with my meal, I sat back, feeling vaguely satisfied. It hadn't exactly filled me up, but it certainly had done a world of good to my mood. The clock on the wall said that it was 7:25.

I returned the tray and went back to my room, settling down on the bed to do nothing more than stare at the ceiling.

I'd had the rug pulled out from under my feet. Still drowsy from the pills, I tried to think back, possibly find a point in time when things had snapped. I wasn't a bad kid, you know. Admittedly, I'd stolen things here and there, if only just to survive, but I wasn't one of those juvenile delinquents you're always hearing about. There was just something different about me—something that told me, like a gut feeling, what this world was really about. There's something in this world that can't be explained. It's a feeling of being pulled down. Constantly. Like karma, only it's not returning things to you. It's simply out to get you, to make your life a living hell. Maybe I'm weak for giving in to it, allowing it to ruin my life. But, honestly, I don't feel like fighting it. You can't fight something like that, anyway. It's pure evil. Pure blackness. An Umbra.

Maybe that's why I wear a mask—not a literal mask, mind you. I cover up the scars of my past with a simple, empty smile and simple, empty jokes. It's a strain, I'll tell you that much. The feeling of constantly trying to be something that you know you're not. A permanent contradictory feeling within you that, in the end, does more harm than good. You can keep the mask on, but you know that beneath it, you're a disgusting creature. I'm a disgusting creature. And I hear voices.

I'm not so out of it that I don't know that the voice inside my head isn't real. Keep that in mind. It's just hard not to do what it says when it just won't shut up. And, sometimes, I just snap. I guess I finally snapped for good this time, because I'm here now.