The Shotgun Approach

Chapter 33: Rehabilitation

A/N: This one jumps back in time a bit, to Ettie's first days at the rehab.

Also, I've updated the playlist for this story, you can find it on Spotify! I'm 1nerdygurl on there, and the playlist is under the same name as the fic.

. . .

"We won't make you detox cold turkey...we can give you medicines and—"

I held up a hand, silencing the woman giving me the rundown of the rehabilitation center's policies and procedures, how they go about caring for their patients. I wasn't their first demon, they told me. I was just one of the few here for an actual addiction. So many arrived almost daily just for a place to sleep. It made my heart ache. Yusuke wanted so badly for this to work and it was falling around him in pieces.

And I could do nothing to stop it.

I'd tried...and failed.

"I wish to do it the hard way," I said, and the nurse's eyes widened in shock.

She immediately began to protest, and I silenced her again. "I've been an addict well over thirty years. If it kills me now, then that is the way I was meant to go."

She pursed her lips and looked displeased, but decided it was an argument she would not win. She nodded and handed me some paperwork. "We will work with you to tailor a treatment plan fit just to you and your wishes. If you believe doing it without any help is the best way, then that is what we will do."

I signed waivers and form upon form, explaining that I could not leave until my treatment was up, because that was what I chose. I would leave here without a drop of the garbage in my veins or I wouldn't leave at all.

They set me up with a room shared with two others. They took all my possessions and searched me for anything hidden. I was bathed and put into clean, sterile hospital issued clothing. I was warned when my withdrawals became too much, they would place me in isolation so they could monitor me. There was no pretending they wouldn't become too much. The pain of it was likely to kill me.

Perhaps that was what I hoped for.

Let the goddess Hel finally put me in my place.

The first night wouldn't be the hardest, though it felt as if it were. I didn't sleep. I sat in my cot and curled my knees to my chest and itched the skin on my arms until it was raw. I longed for a pill, for a powder or a liquid, anything to stop the thoughts slowly encroaching their way into my mind until they were all I could see.

My roommates steered clear of me. They recognized the start of it but were wary because they were human.

I didn't blame them.

The sweating started sometime around three in the morning. I soaked the bed sheets beneath me and tried to hold onto what little I'd eaten the evening before as it rolled around my stomach.

Then came the shakes. Constant nausea finally giving way to vomiting.

When the sun rose was when they came to get me.

I was ushered into a whitewashed room and placed in a hospital bed and hooked up to monitors and IVs so they could give me fluids as quickly as I lost them.

Two days in and I was throwing up until my throat bled. I couldn't breathe through the pain of it, the smell of sweat and vomit was suffocating. My head pounded, and for a long time, I lost all sense of my surroundings. There was just the monster in me clawing its way to the peak and shredding me from the inside out.

I awoke a while later with an oxygen tube in my nose and the nurse standing at my bedside checking the monitors explained I'd had a seizure.

They asked again if I wanted something.

And again I growled out no.

She conceded, worried eyes pinning me to the bed and I figured now was as good a time as any to ask her name.

"My name is Sato Mari," she replied, smiling kindly.

"Sato-san," I repeated, trying to remember it and keep with the ever polite if the overly formal style of the Japanese.

She patted me on the shoulder, and I cringed, her touch painful. "Just call me Mari."

Twenty-four hours later, I awoke once again in a pool of my own sweat, my muscles tense and hands shaky. I reached for a cup of water on the bedside table. It tumbled from my fingers to the floor, and I watched the plastic glass roll away beneath the bed, leaving a trail of liquid in its wake.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen. Can't even pick up a cup of water.

My throat was dry and tasted of bile and acid, and I stupidly tried to rise from the bed to get a new glass. My feet gave out from under me, and the IV was ripped from the back of my hand with a spurt of blood. I swore and just sunk further to the ground, appreciating the feeling of the cold tile against skin overheated.

How many hours? How many days?

How much longer?

I threw up again, turning just in time to spew it across the floor instead of choking on it.

The door was thrown open, and my nurse came rushing in.

I growled at her like a cornered animal when she drew too close, and she took two quick steps back, her hands held up. Through the haze, I could smell the fear on her, and it made me laugh.

"Scared, girl?" I asked, rising to my hands and knees. "Don't be."

There was nothing left in me to fear.

My hand slipped in the mess, and I fell to my face, the sound of my nose cracking filling my ears and then blood joined the rest of it.

I laid there. I wanted to give up.

Hands on my back that were too gentle made me want to slap them off, but there was no fight left in me. I was dying. Slowly. Painfully.

I deserved so much worse.

When my eyes closed, I thought for sure it would be for the last time. In fact, I prayed for it. Prayed to old gods who'd forsaken me a long time ago.

I should have known they wouldn't grant my wish.

. . .

What usually should have taken about a week...it took me three before the withdrawals wore off enough that I could somewhat function. Every second I spent in that hospital bed was pure torture. I had more than one seizure, and even the doctors who visited the rehab daily were surprised I managed through it with nothing but some hydration.

It wasn't the end of it, however.

When I was deemed healthy enough to withdraw from isolation, I was put back in the same room. A room I didn't leave.

They cajoled and entreated and tried over and over to convince me to join in on activities and therapy and any number of useless things. I ate the bare minimum to stay alive. I showered only once a week and spent the rest of my time curled up in my bed and remembering.

Always remembering.

The psychiatrists called it psychosis. They thought I was hallucinating.

I supposed I was.

But they weren't illusions. They were things that happened. Just a long, long time ago.

A month passed. It came and went and with it heralded a visitor.

"Etternia." The knock at the door was repeated before Mari entered without my permission. "Someone is here to see you."

Her voice sounded excited. She was invested in my care, for whatever reason, because I gave her nothing to hope for. She must have thought it something grand, for me to get a visitor.

"Tell them I've died," I said from beneath the bed sheets.

"You sound quite lively to me."

The voice was surprising, and it almost...almost lured me from my bed. I should have known Mari would just bring them along.

"I'm sorry, but I can't leave you two alone. Perhaps you could convince Etternia to come to the recreation room?"

Sighing, because I knew I wouldn't be able to turn him away now, I threw the sheets off myself and shuffled to the door.

He stood there, hair a little longer than I remembered but just as bright. His smile was fake and misleading, but I followed them both to the rec room where other patients also held their visits.

Mari left us then, allowing the orderlies bordering the room to keep an eye on us. Not to mention the numerous cameras. The place might as well be set up like a fortress. Nothing came in or out without their knowledge. The rehab's head psychiatrist ran a tight ship, and nothing slipped by her unnoticed.

Or so they said.

I'd never actually had the pleasure of meeting the woman.

"Is there something I can help you with?" My tone was cold and withdrawn. I stared at the plastic top of the table and picked at my dirty nails and did anything other than honestly acknowledge his presence.

Behind my eyes swam some memory...one of so, so many. Artair stood in the corner of the room and smiled at me. My hands shook, aching for something I could not have. The man in front of me cleared his throat, and the vision was gone like smoke.

"I came to see how you were progressing."

"Why?" The question came out bitter, and I shook my head. Stop.

"Could be better, I see."

I bared my teeth at him, one chipped fang and the other sharp as a razor.

"Why don't you pull that one out? It will grow back, won't it?" he asked, indicating the chipped fang, which to many demons was a sign of weakness.

The memory of how it became the way it was surfaced, and I laughed. "I wear it with pride."

It was the blade of my father's sword that did it. The same way I got the scar across my lip. It was a dodge I only just managed and if I hadn't the swing would have cut my head in half.

"Yusuke has been asking about you, I was hoping to take back a promising report."

Kurama's voice was kind. Too kind.

"You didn't come here for that. Stop beating around the bush."

He sat back, folding his hands in his lap and frowning. "If you think I came hoping to see you fail, you are very wrong."

Unable to look at him, I continued to pick at my nails until they bled. He reached a hand over to stop me, and I snatched them back as if he were a viper trying to strike. He leaned back in his chair again and chose to keep his distance after that.

"All the hospitals in Sarayashiki have stopped taking demon patients," he said. I realized he was trying to inform me of news going on outside. Live television wasn't allowed within the walls of the rehab, because much of it was triggering. "The man spearheading the campaign is Tadao."

"Yes, well, if Hiei didn't break all of the man's fingers, he might have had a different outlook." I paused, contemplating. "Then again, perhaps not."

My eyes darted beneath the table beside us. It was empty save for the creature crouched under it. It stared at me with golden glowing eyes, its skin and hair as black as obsidian and fingers extended and sharp as ornamental grass. When was the last time I saw one of those? The creatures that lived in the lakes and streams, waiting for unsuspecting animals and men to take a drink. A land spirit, as we called them. They were integral to the state of our world...but they were hazards for any other living creature.

"What are you looking at?"

I blinked, and the spirit was gone.

Turning back to Kurama, with eyes as hollow as my chest, I spoke: "Nothing. Nothing at all."

He finished his visit with haste after that, asking benign easy to answer questions. I gave him single word replies and hurried him on his way.

It wouldn't be the last time I saw him.

. . .

Two months into my stay came the news of the total ban of all demonic patients at any Sarayashiki hospital and of those in neighboring towns. With the prohibition came many other businesses following suit—from restaurants to convenience stores, to colleges.

If they didn't look human they were turned away...if not outright arrested just for being what they are.

The slums would be overrun by now, I thought. They would be their new home.

I thought my chest would hurt, that I would feel like weeping for them. But I felt nothing. Just as I had for the past month. I spent no time with my peers, no matter how many tried to befriend me. I spent most of my time helping the nurses, explaining alternative medicines, and assisting with mundane tasks around the center. Sometimes when a patient came to the infirmary, I was even allowed to treat them, but only if it was something simple—some stitches here and there, a bandage for a small cut or wrap for a sprain.

They even allowed me to start an herb garden...though they dictated what was grown in it and none of the seedlings were of demonic origin. It gave me the barest hint of pleasure...to be surrounded by plants again.

Kurama came for a visit once a week. Always on the same day, without fail.

Every Sunday, I made my way to the rec room and waited for him. And every Sunday it was the same—he would ask how I was doing, tell me news of Yusuke and the others...and then he would leave.

He never explained himself, and I gave up on asking after the first few times.

My roommates came and went. Soon, more demon than human inhabitants started to filter through the place. Many came just for a clean bed and food. I expected them to be turned away, as they were many other places, but not here. They were welcomed just like anyone else, given a clean set of clothes and a bed and a hot meal, even if for a single night.

Some recognized me.

Old patients and new began to show up in the hopes I would treat them.

Soon enough, I might as well have joined the small team of doctors and nurses that ran the place.

News of my exploits soon reached the woman who ran the center...and I was called up to her office one evening after supper. I expected to be put in my place, to be told I was a patient and nothing more and had no right to be treating the demons who suddenly began frequenting the rehab.

I was ushered inside without a word, and the door was quickly closed behind me.

The woman standing behind the desk wasn't Japanese, that much was true. Her natural auburn red hair and eyes a sharp blue was hint enough to that fact. She was tall for a woman, sturdy and rugged looking. She kept her hair tied tight in a bun near the top of her head. Serious in demeanor and stance. I cast my eyes down her body in appreciation.

Not what I was expecting.

She held out a hand for me to shake, and I strode over and took it. She introduced herself as Siobhan Ryan. An Irish name.

"Take a seat, Etternia."

She did not bow or follow any type of tradition, she just allowed me to take my seat before she took her own. A breath of silence followed where she arranged herself neatly in her chair and spent a little too long studying the contours of my face.

"Where are you from, Etternia?"

The sound of my name always made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. It reminded me far too much of how my father spoke it—a guttural utterance of pure disdain. And though her voice lacked such intonations my dislike for my given name would never fade.

"You can call me Ettie if it pleases you."

"So formal," she said with a laugh. "Ettie, then. If you would answer my question?"

"The North," was my simple reply. Siobhan's lips turned up into a secretive smile, and she nodded, conceding.

"And you are a demon?" She picked up a manila folder, a file with my name stamped across it and several numbers. She picked through it, skimming the pages. "Ah, yes, an Elementa. Those are quite rare, aren't they?"

I shrugged, not willing to divulge personal information about my heritage or my people. Least of all to some foreigner I didn't know. I could not sense if she were human or demon, and this alone made me wary. My instincts screamed that this woman wasn't one to be trifled with, but she showed no outward signs of hostility or Magiks. By far, the biggest annoyance of Koenma's brand was the inability to see auras.

She closed my file with a snap and pushed it aside. "That isn't why I called you here today. There's plenty of time for us to get to know each other." She cast her gaze to the tattoos down my arms and pursed her lips, her eyes narrowing. "I wish to commend you on the excellent care you have displayed for the many demon inhabitants of the rehab. We, unfortunately, lack the proper medical staff to assist in such matters, as I'm sure you well know."

"Everywhere does. Most don't care to even bother with it," I said, bitter.

It was the truth. The hospitals would no longer take demons or apparitions as patients, and even when they did, there wasn't a single competent doctor in the entirety of Sarayashiki who could handle the vastness of demonic medicine. There were too many species, too many different biologies and energies. It would take decades of education for even a single person to learn all there is to know.

"Ah, but you bother with it. You have medical training if I'm not mistaken?"

I cast my eyes to the top of her desk, tried to make out the tiny indentations created from years of writing across the same surface, but all the words were jumbled together, some more faded than others. My vision swam, and a voice whispered in my ears, and I tried to drown it out by thinking of anything but what it wished to tell me.

"Etternia?"

Siobhan's voice was soothing, a balm against the constant constricting ache in my skull. It instantly made me distrustful, and my eyes snapped back to her face.

Her eyes shone a different color for a single moment in time.

And then they returned to that same shade of piercing blue.

A mind reader. Just like Hiei.

What a dirty trick to play when she damn well knew my defenses were weak.

"You are an Aos Sí."

"Ah, you are familiar with Ireland's beasts, are you?"

She spoke fluent Japanese, no trace of an accent, and she fell into my own language just as easily. The old tongue rolled from between her lips as if she'd spoken it her entire life.

The Magik gifted to their kind. They only need to hear it once.

Siobhan smiled, not unkindly, and rose from her chair. She extended her hand again, but this time, I refused to take it. All this did was make her laugh.

"I don't mean you any harm. I am merely concerned for my patients and employees."

I stood, keeping my gaze carefully trained on her, watching for any more signs of an attack—internal or otherwise. "Odd choice of occupation for one of your kind," I said.

"I could say the same for you," she replied.

The door opened, and a male orderly waited outside, clearly here to escort me back to the patient areas.

"Until next time, Ettie."

She cast me one final knowing smile before I was ushered out the door. As I was walked back to my room, I contemplated the odd visit...and the bizarre woman who ran this place. What a strange choice for work...why would one of her kind be here of all places? Japan was surprising enough, most of them never left Ireland. Even fewer actually wished to be of any sort of help...they mostly spent their lives tricking and terrorizing the humans.

The meeting itself made little sense, other than the undeniable fact that she wished to size me up.

Did she find me a threat?

Not possible. Not as I am now.

The orderly guiding me back to my room stopped just outside the door and turned to regard me with an odd stare.

I stared right back, a single brow raised and a challenge in my eyes. Go ahead, little boy, say what you like and be done with it. But he just blinked a few times, as if to clear his head, and then opened my door. I walked in without needing to be told, ignoring my roommates who giggled in the corner over some letters they'd received from their lovers and flopped onto my cot. Outside a storm raged and it banged against the barred windows in torrents, lightning flashing across the sky.

The girls yelped at a loud clap of thunder, and I chuckled.

Oh, to be afraid of such simple things.

"Ettie...?" One of them whispered hesitantly, standing at the end of my bed, wringing her hands. The other soon joined her, and I could not recall their names but could see the fear in their tired eyes and sighed.

"Come." I lifted an arm, and the first girl was quick to slide beneath it, the other soon followed, and then we were a mass of huddled bodies on a bed far too small.

They rode out the storm clutched around me, and I took some small comfort in knowing I brought them some peace, if only for a brief time. Tomorrow the rain would end, and the girls' fear would be abated, and they would go back to doing their best to include me and failing.

I did not dislike the girls...or anyone in the rehab, not really.

I just did not need any sort of attachments. I was here for a single reason. A single goal.

Friendships were not necessary. They were a hindrance.

Once, long ago, I had many friends. I slept in big beds with family and loved ones, we danced and drank around fires, celebrated the turning of seasons and the gods together. Always together. Kinship was stressed and essential to my people because we were a dying race.

But as I watched all those I cherished be cut down...one by one...I soon realized I was not meant to love anyone. I was better off with a core cold as the ice I was able to conjure.

I learned it was better to keep enemies closer than friends.

As the night waned and the storm ended, the moon a bright glow through the windows, the girls slept on. I kept my arms around them and prayed to the goddess to keep them safe, even though I knew she would not listen.

And tomorrow...tomorrow I vowed to learn their names.

Change must come in many ways.

So, please, allow this to be one of them.

. . .

A/N: Sorry, it was only a brief visit from Kurama this chapter and not much else to do with the boys. Next chapter will catch back up to the previous one.

Ettie is making some slow progress, but progress all the same.