Hey, guys, I'm back with another chapter and I hope that everyone is excited! So, warning you in advance, this chapter is super duper long and this is my second time writing it because my site crashed... therefore, I will not take too long talking before we get started. Please don't forget to leave reviews because it will help me make my story better! That's pretty much it so let's get on with the chapter, shall we?

-Hayd

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Newsies or anything about it. All rights go to Disney

Jack followed Davey back to their room, quietly surveying in the brown-haired boy. Everything about Davey seemed to be perfect, maybe almost an obsessive kind of perfect; his was wearing a regular pair of blue jeans with a gray button up shirt, the collar folded expertly. They reached their room and Jack watched as Davey took out another cloth, this one a slightly different color than the one he had used on the utensils at lunch, and carefully laid it over the doorknob before turning it. He pushed the door open and Jack strode in, making his way over to his bed.

"So, Dave, how'd a guy like you end up in a place like this? If it's okay for me to ask" he said as he flopped over onto the mattress. He hoped he wasn't offending Davey by asking. Davey pushed the door closed, before taking off the cloth off of the handle and tossing it on the dresser. He looked like he was going to sit down on his bed, but instead, he walked back over to the dresser and quickly folded the cloth.

"Severe OCD and anxiety" he replied, stretching out on top of his bed, one leg popped up and one laying straight. Jack raised his eyebrows, confused,

"Obsessive Compulsive Disorder? I knew a bunch of guys with that, none of them ever got put into a place like this," he said, propping himself up on his elbows. Davey glanced over at him,

"Well, I bet those guys never poisoned themselves with a bottle of all-purpose cleaner." Jack wasn't sure he had heard right,

"What?" Davey laughed quietly, before looking over at Jack,

"Settle in kids, it's story time." Jack laughed before sitting up fully on his bed, back resting on the wall. He put his hands into his pockets and let Davey begin,

"It started when I was pretty little, I had these little habits, things that I had to do in order to get through the day. I'd refuse to walk on grass, I wore gloves, etcetera. These things that I did though, were like solutions to problems for me though. Because for some reason, I'd get these weird constant fears, like falling a sinkhole if I stepped on grass, or something bad happening if I got a cut on my hand. However, they were easy to combat; if I did certain things, I could make it through the day without anything bad happening. My parents decided to get me tested when they found me organizing my bookshelf. They had asked what I was doing, and I told them that I was making sure the house wouldn't burn down. They thought I was crazy, so I got tested and diagnosed with OCD as well as anxiety because I'd start panicking if I forgot to do something. After we found out what I had, my mom and dad were a little bit more relaxed around me, instead of always looking at me weirdly and whispering to each other whenever I had to do something like wash my hands for exactly 1 minute and 30 seconds, or have all my shirts ironed a day before I planned on wearing them. My little brother was the one who always acted normal around me, he would even ask to watch me reorganize my room. So, it went on like that for a while, fears easily manageable if I had an action to counter it. Except for one day, when I was about 11, I was at an art festival with my family, and there was this man standing next to us, smoking. I remember seeing the little puffs of smoke coming out of his mouth, and I started to panic. I was sure that I was going to die if I inhaled any of the smoke, so I held my breath. And I'm pretty sure he saw me holding my breath but he didn't move. So, I just kept holding my breath, and I remember my mom looking at me, she looked scared. Suddenly, her face kind of turned sideways and everything went black. I woke up later on that day in the hospital and the doctor told me that I'd passed out from holding my breath for so long. He asked me why I'd been holding it in the first place, so I told him about the smoking man and how my chest had gotten tight when I saw the smoke and how I had panicked. He told my parents it was a panic attack triggered by my OCD and suggested starting therapy for it. I didn't have to stay in the hospital overnight or anything, I was allowed to check out once the doctor had recommended a therapist. So, I started going to see him twice a week; Let me tell you, he was totally useless," Jack laughed at that comment, and Davey looked over and smiled, "All he did was try and make me do stuff like leave one button of my shirt open or open the door without gloves and such. It was awful; But, my parents kept making me go to him. If you ask me, it made my OCD worse, and everything just continued on as it had before. Then, one day about six months ago, I was eating breakfast by myself on the counter. And I looked down at my bowl, and I felt that tugging at my chest again, like the day that man was smoking. I looked down at the bowl and I couldn't stop thinking that I'd die if I ate any more of it, it was just so unclean. Looking back, it was a stupid decision, but I remember practically running to the cabinet where we kept our cleaning supplies and grabbing the bottle of all-purpose cleaner. At the time, 'all-purpose' was enough, I just needed something to clean my food with. Something that wasn't just soap and water. I ran back to the counter and sprayed a bunch of it all over my food; seeing it seemed to calm me down, so I walked back over and put the bottle away, then I walked back over the counter and kept on eating. It seemed fine, I only felt nauseous a little, but I thought it was because of the panic attack. I didn't start feeling really bad until later on that day when I was laying on the couch with my little brother, watching tv. It happened gradually, starting as a slight tug at my chest, but soon enough, I couldn't breathe. At first, I thought it was a panic attack, but there was nothing around to trigger it, so I knew something was really wrong. I tried to stand up, I had to get out of the room before I scared my brother, but my whole body was shaking so much, I could barely stand up at all. I could hear my brother calling my name, but he sounded so far away for some reason. Suddenly, I couldn't tell which way was up or down, right, left, or forward. Everything was blurry and spinning but I tried to take a step, and that was it. Everything turned sideways. I didn't everything went black before I even hit the ground. I woke up in the hospital the next day with a cannula in my nose. My head felt terrible and my throat burned," Jack gave him a sympathetic look, he knew how that felt, "A nurse walked by my room and saw that I was awake, and he called another doctor in. She walked in and my mom and dad were with her; mom had been crying I could tell, and I couldn't look her in the eyes. I didn't even know what had happened. My parents sat down in those chairs that they keep beside the beds while the doctor read over my chart on her clipboard. She told us that something I had ingested had caused moderate and severe symptoms of poisoning, which lead to me passing out. She asked me if I had eaten anything in the last 48 hours that could've caused the poisoning, so, I told her about my panic attack and the all-purpose cleaner. I could see my parents out of the corner of my eye; man, they looked so disappointed, and I'm not sure whether of not it was in me or themselves. The doctor then took my parents outside, and I watched them talk; the doctor pointed at her clipboard a few times and handed my parents a brochure, gesturing with her hand. I watched my mom and dad flip through the brochure before looking at each other and whispering for a bit. After they finished whispering, they turned back towards the doctor and my dad nodded. The nurse smiled warmly and pulled out a small tablet, tapping a few buttons before replacing it back in her pocket. All three of them walked back into my room, and the doctor explained that she recommended a more specialized hospital for me to stay at, this place. She said that my parents had agreed and she had put me down to be checked in later on that day. My parents wouldn't look me in the eye, they just excused themselves to go get my stuff from the house. They wouldn't even let me go and pack my own things, I had to stay at the hospital until it was time to go. Then later on that day, I checked in here, and I've been here ever since."

Jack stared at Davey, who was staring at the ceiling. He wasn't sure what to say, so he just sat there twisting a loose thread on the inside of his pocket. Davey broke the silence, turning himself until he was facing Jack,

"What about you Jack? What did you do to get locked up here?" Jack looked down at his hands, pulling his hands out of his pockets and tugging at his sleeves,

"I'm sorry. I don't really like to talk about it. I know, you just told me your story and so I kinda owe you mine I just, don't like to talk about it a lot." he said quietly. When Davey didn't respond, Jack looked up, expecting to find Davey mad at him but instead, he was met with a sympathetic smile,

"I ain't mad, If that's what you think," Davey said.

"Really?" Jack asked quietly. Davey nodded,

"Look, Jack, I told you about myself because I'm comfortable telling you, and if you ain't comfortable tellin' me yet then you don't gotta tell me." Jack gave him a grateful smile and Davey smiled back.

"Anything else you wanna hear about?" Davey asked, trying to break the tension. Jack thought for a moment,

"Can you tell me how to other fellas ended up in here? If not it's perfectly fine, just wanted to know if it was possible..." He fumbled with his words, talking fast. Davey considered his request for a moment before making a decision,

"Yeah sure," he said. "Who do you want to start with?" Jack thought back to the boy at lunch, Romeo he thought, who had been trying to scratch up his arms.

"What about the young kid, Romeo?" Davey nodded, letting Jack know he'd gotten the name right before starting. Romeo's probably the youngest one here, he just turned thirteen a few weeks ago. He arrived here a few days after I did. That poor kid had gone through a lot, didn't speak or anything for about a week. When he was 12, his dad had an affair and left his mom and him a few weeks after. He wasn't kind about it either, he told her that it was her fault for not trying hard enough or some crap like that; He brought the other girl over when he packed, just so Romeo and his mom could see the new woman in his life. Then he just...left. Romeo's mom took it real hard and then one day when Romeo was calling for his mom, he went to check the bathroom to see if she was in there. He knocked a few times but got no response, so he opened the door, and she was dead." Jack's eyes widened in shock as Davey continued. "She was laying in the bathtub, her wrists and arms all slashed up. His scream must've been heard by the other tenants in the complex, and the police were called. When they got there, they took one look and knew there was no saving her. She was dead. They tried to talk to Romeo, but he'd stopped responding to anyone or anything, he just sat there, running his hands up and down his arms. They took him to a hospital where he stayed in the temporary psych ward, but he still wouldn't acknowledge anyone, so they decided a place like this would be better suited for him. I remember the day they brought him in; one of the nurses wheeled him in with a wheelchair, she said he wouldn't walk. We all tried to say hi, but he just sat there in the chair, scratching at his arms. Specs kind of watched over him when he got here. He pushed Romeo's chair around and helped them bandage his arms when they got all scratched up. It wasn't until about a week later that he finally acknowledged anyone; he had his knees to his chest, he hadn't moved since he got there, except his hands, which just kept on scratching at his arms. We were in the rec room, Specs had put his chair next to one of the couches, and suddenly he just slowly lifted his head and looked around the room, his eyes slightly lost. Race was the first to notice, and he kind of hurried over to the chair, crouching in front of it. 'Are you with us kid? Romeo, that's your name right?' he asked. At first Romeo jut kind of stared at him, and we thought maybe we'd been imagining it, but then he nodded. It was a small, and kind of shaky nod, but it was a nod. All the guys were really relieved, we were scared that he'd never say anything. Specs went and got a nurse, who came to get Romeo because they had to assign him to a roommate and get him settled. They ended up putting him with Specs; he hasn't become unresponsive since then, but he still scratches at his arms, and everyone can hear him screaming in his sleep occasionally, though no one says anything." Jack listened as Davey finished, eyes wide. The kid just turned 13, he was so young. He swallowed,

"And Specs?" He asked hesitantly. Davey nodded, "Specs has schizophrenia. He hears voices and sees things that aren't there, stuff like that. He talks really fast, and sometimes we can't tell what he's saying. Sometimes he does things over and over, except he doesn't realize that he's doing it. He gets nightmares too, we can hear him screaming on those nights. Romeo is always able to calm him down though. They're practically inseparable" Jack smiled, picturing Specs and Romeo laughing together at lunch, the older boy's arm around Romeo.

Jack put his hands back into his pockets and listened as Davey went over each boy's condition: Blink had Tourette's, the twins both had DID*, Finch had night terrors so bad that he couldn't differentiate reality from nightmare, Henry's parents were both abusive, Albert had Intermittent Explosive Disorder**, Elmer had Hypergraphia*** combined with mild depression, and had been admitted after carving words on his skin.

"Race has Bipolar disorder. Spot's the only one who can calm him down when he's having one of his worse days. Crutchie told you about Spot?" Davey assumed, raising his eyebrows for clarification. Jack nodded,

"Drug addiction right? Crutchie told me it was pretty bad" Davey nodded solemnly,

"He was checked in after he was on the subway one day and something happened. He started havin' a seizure of some sort and he passed out. The doctors found out that his addiction had gotten so bad that it had caused epilepsy, and the seizures would keep coming until eventually, his heart stopped. So, they signed him in here to try and help him get over it. They say he's stuck with epilepsy though. The least they can do is reduce the frequency of his seizures."

Jack hesitated for a moment before looking up at Davey,

"And Crutchie?" He asked quietly. Davey sighed,

"I guess you figured it out huh?" Jack swallowed the lump in his throat before nodding,

"Anorexia isn't it?" Davey's shoulders dropped, and he nodded,

"His is the hardest on everyone I think. The nurses try as hard as they can; they've got him on a strict meal plan, Kathrine checks up on his every hour. If he walks too much they make him use a wheelchair so he doesn't burn off too many calories, heck, he's not even allowed to shower or use the restroom alone. There's always a staff member there to make sure he isn't throwing up or anything. Somehow though, he refuses. Sure, he has a meal plan but he doesn't even go up to the counter to get it. And that kid smiles no matter what, he seems to thrive off of positivity alone. I hear the nurses whispering though, he's collapsed multiple times in the past month, they're afraid of organ failure." Jack's eyes widen in shock,

"So why does no one make him eat?" He cried, suddenly needing Crutchie to be ok. Davey averted his eyes, maybe in shame,"

"Everyone tries, everyone tries to get him to eat, but he refuses. If you force him, it gets even worse, and he won't even drink water for as long as he can go. So no one forces him. We're all afraid of him going too far." Jack listened in shock. It just didn't fit that that sunshiny boy with the ever-present smile could be doing something like that to himself. Jack jumped slightly when a chime buzzed through the intercom. Davey slid off his bed, straightening his shirt carefully,

"That would mean it's time for the afternoon circle." Jack cocked his head slightly in confusion. Davey laughed,

"It's like group therapy basically," He said, putting his cloth back over the doorknob and pulling the door open,

"C'mon." Jack slowly stood up from his bed, not bothering to put back on his shoes. As he followed Davey out of the room, he made a promise to himself: He would get Crutchie to eat. If it was the last thing he did.

*: Dissociative Identity Disorder- aka "Multiple Personality Disorder". It's characterized by the presence of two or more personalities. Usually brought on by traumatic events ( )

**: Intermittent Explosive disorder- Outbursts of anger and sometimes violence that do not always fit the situation or require provocation. (commonly described as anger management disorder) ( )

***: Hypergraphia- Compulsive writing. ( )